Yes, Mr Malfoy
by NeverNik
Summary: Hermione has loved man-about-town Blaise Zabini for years, but he's never given her a second glance. When Blaise chooses yet another society filly to romance instead of her, well! It calls for some action. Blaise's colleague Draco lends a hand. In his own way. Adapted from the movie 'Sabrina Fair.'
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hello! I'm back! I couldn't stay away. Hope you enjoy this offering.**

 **Some notes: at the risk of giving the entire plot away, it's based on the movie classic 'Sabrina' (1954). There's no mouldy-Voldy or any dark magic bizzo; and some characters may be OOC as a result.**

 **Let's see where this goes, shall we?**

* * *

The party was in full swing. Malfoy Manor had never looked lovelier, twinkling in the soft summer evening light. Music from that most diverse of centuries – the twentieth – spilled all around – loud enough for the partygoers to dance, but not so loud that people couldn't hear what was being said about oneself.

Inside, the ballroom was heaving with all the right people. They even spilled outside on to the adjacent patio. Paper lanterns floated in the light breeze, outlining the patio and tracing an inviting path down through the meticulously-ordered gardens to the cool shores of the lake. Fairy lights winked from the trees and shrubs. The scent of jasmine from the trellises surrounding the patio lent to the intoxicating atmosphere.

The ladies looked divine in their couture gowns and designer jewellery. If you didn't own jewels that had been in your family for centuries, the only way to display your equality was to adorn yourself in unique pieces that were so expensive they were accompanied by their own security guard.

Half a dozen of these guards sat in a chamber leading off the ballroom, playing cards and making inroads into the host's father's extensive cigar range. Occasionally one should shamble to the ballroom entrance, conduct a head count of the necessary ladies and nip back to the table.

Of course, Draco Malfoy, co-Chief Executive of MZ (Malfoy-Zabini) Enterprises, had seen to it that not even the tiniest jewel could depart from its rightful setting before he was made aware of it, but the Muggle guards were not to know that.

The gentlemen had no need to gaudy themselves up or drip with diamonds. They preferred to show their wealth in subtler ways. The younger the trophy wife, the bigger her boobs, the most luscious lips jam-packed full of silicone – ah, yes, you definitely knew where you were in the pecking order. Men who were in between wives, mistresses, girlfriends, boyfriends or husbands, could brag about their prototype-only sports cars, boats or planes that could fit a good dozen horses under the bonnet. Or whatever it is that boats and planes have.

Wizard gentlemen party to the conversations would nod knowingly, then wonder to themselves what was so attractive about having a woman who looked like a doll.

Servants bearing canapes and drinks threaded their way through the heaving masses –

'We're not servants.' Harry Potter let his empty silver tray land on the marble kitchen bench with a ringing clang.

'Course not. We're MZ Enterprises employees. Who happen to be passing a few trays of food and booze around the hoi polloi. Personally, I don't think it's a bad gig.' Ron Weasley was picking over the mouth-watering amuse-bouches. 'Good eats.'

'It's demeaning!' snarled Harry. 'More to the point, it's Friday bloody night and we should be enjoying the start of our weekend, not slaving for the Malfoys and Zabinis. We do enough of that Monday through Friday.'

Hermione Granger swept in to the kitchen, looking slim in their uniform of black trousers, black shirt, black tie and a long white apron that wrapped around her tiny waist and fell almost to the floor. Her untameable hair was scraped back into a bun that glowed around her like a frizzy-haired halo. 'It's only because they've got Muggles attending the party,' she said, laying her empty tray down and carefully picking up another. 'Otherwise the Malfoys would use house-elves.'

She swatted Ron's hand as it tried to sneak past Hermione's back for few more Prosciutto Crostini with Cherries and Goat Cheese.

'You know, the only reason I'm here is because of you,' Harry grumbled as he squeezed past the throng of waiters dashing to and fro and joined Ron, nibbling on some Peppadew Peppers Stuffed with Whipped Feta. 'Hey. These are good!'

'Stop that, you two.' Hermione rolled her eyes and made an inarticulate sound when Harry shoved a Peppadew Pepper Stuffed with Whipped Feta into her mouth. 'Oh, wow.'

'I'm here for the food,' said Ron cheerfully. 'I freely admit it.'

'You seem to be eating your weight in it.'

'You need to look at the bigger picture,' Hermione said earnestly. Ignoring their eye-rolls, she continued 'If the invited Muggles are pleased with what they see, they'll invest in MZ, and that will take the company into markets we've never dreamed of… which will ultimately mean bigger salaries for us.'

'Wake me when it happens,' yawned Harry.

'Anyway, I'm going to swap with one of the drinks waiters. Try not to guzzle all the food before it's gone, you greedy pigs.'

'Hey!' Ron looked up from a half-demolished platter of Prawn Cocktail with a Trio of Dipping Sauces. 'I resent that.'

'Hermione.' Harry grabbed her arm before she took off. 'Don't spend all night watching him, huh?' He smiled gently to show he meant no harm.

'I don't know what you're talking about.' She stuck her nose up in the air and flounced off.

'You're wasting your time, mate,' Ron commented around a mouthful of Shrimp with Wasabi Mayonnaise. 'She's been in love with the prat for years.' Suddenly he shrieked. 'Shit! These are hot!' He dashed around the kitchen until he found the sink, turned the faucet on full and shoved his head underneath it.

No more Friday nights tarted up as a waiter, watching Ron stick his head in the sink, thought Harry fervently. This is my promise to myself.

* * *

'Hello, Mrs Malfoy!' Hermione said breezily as she passed Narcissa in one of the Manor's many hallways.

'Oh, hello,' Narcissa replied. 'Oh dear, I 've forgotten your name. Now, don't tell me… you're named for a character in Greek mythology… ah! Athena! Am I right?'

'Nearly, Mrs Malfoy. It's Hermione.'

'Oh, of course! Such an unusual name in this day and age, I don't know why I keep forgetting it.' Narcissa pouted. 'Please forgive an old lady, dear.'

'Old? What utter rubbish, Mrs Malfoy!' Hermione said stoutly. 'You look young enough to be Mr Malfoy junior's sister.'

'Oh, my dear!' Narcissa giggled. 'Actually, I'm trying to track down my husband. 'You haven't seen him, have you?'

Hermione supressed a shiver. Mr Malfoy senior was an odd sod.

'No, I haven't, I'm afraid. 'He's not in the kitchen. I was just there.'

'Oh, well, I suppose I shall make another round,' Narcissa sighed. She swept off, looking like grace and delicacy itself in her moss green strapless gown.

Hermione followed, but the sight of smoke unfurling beneath a closet door stopped her. Heart in her mouth, she wrenched the door open, only to behold the spectacle of Lucius Malfoy, standing amongst a forest of winter coats, puffing away on a cigar.

'I told my wife I quit three months ago.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, nonplussed. 'Shall I shut the door, then?'

'Would you?'

She shut the closet door and made her way to the ballroom.

Just inside the gigantic entry doors, _he_ caught up with her. 'All right, Hermione?' Blaise asked, bestowing on her a smile and a cheeky wink. 'You're doing an excellent job, tonight.'

Hermione beamed, cheeks bright pink. 'Thanks, Blaise!'

They parted ways – Blaise to dive into the throng of the Great and the Good, while Hermione floated on cloud nine to the bar.

Neville Longbottom was one of the bar staff, filling dozens of glasses of Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill from an enormous ice bath.

'Hey, Hermione!' Neville arranged the glasses on a silver platter and pushed it to her. 'Thanks for coming, we're flat out here.'

'Happy to help,' Hermione dimpled. 'It's always fun being where the action is.' She collected her tray and went on her rounds. Her tray was bare well before she got halfway around the ballroom.

She served drinks for another half hour, wending her way around the enormous room, looking for someone in particular.

Scooting back to the bar, Hermione handed her tray over to Neville. 'Neville,' she said, trying to sound nonchalant, 'have you seen Blaise recently?'

Neville looked unhappy. 'Well, yes…'

Hermione prodded him. 'Come on, you can tell me.'

Neville sighed. 'He came over a couple of minutes ago to grab a bottle of champagne and some glasses. I saw him heading towards the gazebo.' He looked at Hermione sadly. 'He was with Astoria Greengrass.'

'Oh.' Hermione tried to pick up the tray but her hands seemed to be shaking for some reason. 'Well.' She took a breath and hoisted up the glass-filled tray. Neville rescued it before the entire thing crashed and the bar became awash in broken glass and Pol Roger Sir Winston Churchill.

Neville handed Hermione an empty tray. 'Why don't you collect the empty glasses?' he asked kindly.

Her cheeks flushing hotly, Hermione nodded and slunk off.

She returned to the bar, collected the tray, and slunk off again.

It was a bit cooler out on the patio, Hermione considered as she collected up glasses with dregs of Pol Roger and cigarette butts, ringed with lipsticks of all the colours of the rainbow. There'll be a nice breeze at the gazebo, too. She'll need to borrow his jacket. Of course.

Maybe Neville was wrong? thought Hermione hopefully. Maybe he went there to chat with some colleagues in a place that's a bit quieter and more private. Yeah. That's probably right.

She added a few more glasses to the tray.

No harm in looking. Is there? Besides, there might be glasses to collect.

Hermione made her way furtively to the Malfoy's gazebo. It was perched on the shore of the lake, surrounded by willows (the non-whomping variety) and creeping roses. The perfect place to romance a young woman – er, talk shop with some cronies.

Oh, Blaise. When are you going to stop wasting your time with empty-headed society misses with more money than sense and notice me? I'm smart, and keenly interested in the business, and I'll love you until the end of time. Just as I have since I met you at school.

But there was always someone else.

Nearly there. Hermione crept around a spreading willow that offered plenty of cover and a good spot for spying into the gazebo.

She peered hopefully through the leaves and…

… wished she could bleach her eyes.

For there, just inside the beautiful gazebo, stood Astoria Greengrass, resplendent in her vintage Chanel, leaning against one of the gazebo beams and making all sorts of odd noises while Blaise Zabini, _Hermione's_ Blaise Zabini, knelt before Astoria's long, long legs, his face buried amongst the Parisian fabric, while he –

Oh, my Godric Gryffindor.

Of course he wants empty-headed society misses with more money than sense. Beautiful, sophisticated ones that smoke and drink and let men have forms of sex with them shortly after they've been introduced. Why would gorgeous, sophisticated Blaise Zabini, with two marriages to chalk up to experience by the time he was twenty-three, even look at a virginal bookworm with hair so bushy it should be tended to by gardeners instead of hairdressers?

Hermione slid down from her perch in the tree, despondent and desolate. The noise and cheer of Malfoy Manor taunted her. The thought of returning to her prior life was unbearable.

Biting her lip to stifle the tears welling from her broken heart, she stumbled through the gardens until she reached the lake's boat ramp. There, she sat down on the shingled shore, wrapped her arms around her knees, and sobbed.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood at the vast Manor entrance, farewelling the last of the guests. All in all, a good evening's investment, he thought. Even though it was left up to him to do most of the schmoozing, since Father seemed hell-bent on avoiding Mother for some reason, and bloody Blaise disappeared halfway through the evening, probably with yet another piece of fluff. Still. Some good deals had been brokered, and it looked like MZ Enterprises were about to launch themselves into the Muggle market. The possibilities were endless.

Heading back inside, he saw Neville, Harry and Ron gathering their things together before heading home.

'Hey,' he said, ambling over. 'Thanks for helping out tonight.' It was always awkward talking about compensation to people you went to school with, so he didn't let them know they'd be paid well for their time.

'No worries,' said Ron cheerfully. 'I like these functions. Pop me down for more.'

Harry glared at him before turning to Draco. 'Malfoy, have you seen Hermione? Neville saw her head outside to clear glasses, but that was over two hours ago.'

'We can't leave without her,' Neville said. 'We gave her a lift in.'

'I don't recall that I have seen her,' said Draco thoughtfully. 'I'll look around the grounds. No need for you to stay, though. The property will resume its magic soon, and she can use the Floo.'

On the one hand, Harry was reluctant to abandon Hermione at Malfoy Manor, but on the other hand he wanted to get home to cuddle Ginny before she turned in for the night, offering him only a cold shoulder as his reward for being away all evening. 'Thanks, much appreciated. Let's go, guys.'

Nodding their goodbyes, they filed out the door and climbed into a horror of a clapped-out Toyota Corolla. It coughed and shook down the long driveway into obscurity.

I think I did Miss Granger a favour, thought Draco watching the car with an alarmed eye.

* * *

Draco eventually found her, down by the lake. She made a small, pitiful figure, hunched over herself, staring at the concentric rings forms by the stones she tossed into the water.

He sat down beside her. 'Hello.'

'Hello, Malfoy,' she mumbled.

'Um, your friends were looking for you.'

'They can keep looking.'

Draco furrowed his brow. He'd had some interactions with her at Hogwarts and at MZ Enterprises, where she was Head of Research and Development, but he always recalled Miss Granger to be a happy whirl of constant activity and chatter. The Miss Granger sitting next to him, withdrawn and morose, was not a Miss Granger he was familiar with.

And he had a reasonable idea why.

'Miss Granger' –

'What's wrong with me?' she cried, whirling on him. 'Why doesn't he even see me? Over twelve bloody years I've been in love with him, watching from the sidelines while he chases floozy after floozy!' Even worse, everyone knows except him!' Tears started to fall again.

Draco preferred a quiet, orderly life. Hysterical lovelorn ladies were Blaise's cup of tea. Still, he couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

'Miss Granger,' he began again, removing his spectacles and polishing them with his undone tie, 'as much as I respect Blaise as a businessman and enjoy his friendship, he is an utter wanker when it comes to women. Pardon my frankness.'

Hermione snivelled.

Draco thought of Harry and his friends. 'I imagine I'm not the first person to say this, but you are infinitely too good for him. Perhaps it's time to let that boat sail, and see what else lies around the corner. If you'll pardon me mixing my metaphors.'

Hermione nodded bravely. 'That's good advice, Malfoy.' She tried on a smile, but it quickly slid off. 'B-b-but I w-w-want him so m-m-much!' she wailed, and she flung herself into Draco's surprised arms.

He patted her back awkwardly and soothed her with rhythmic 'there, theres,' since that was all he could come up with.

At length, Hermione disentangled herself and pulled away, embarrassed. 'Sorry, Malfoy,' she mumbled. 'It won't happen again. You were very sweet, though. You'll make someone a wonderful husband one day, I'm sure.'

Sweet? Draco could not recall a Malfoy ever being called 'sweet' before. As for husband? Hardly. Who has time, these days?

They sat watching the moonlight dance on the water for a little while. Then Draco did what he did best – he had an idea.

'You know, I think a change of scene would do you good,' he mused. 'How about Paris?'

Hermione blew her nose. 'What about Paris?'

'I believe I have one of your proposals sitting on my desk, discussing the amalgamation of magic into certain food products that would heighten the emotional experience of the person eating them. And a milder version for Muggles.'

Hermione looked down at her hands. 'Oh, yes. It was an idea I formed when I accidentally splashed some Beguiling Bubbles onto a cupcake.'

'I think the idea shows a great deal of promise.'

Hermione looked up at him, and he was pleased to see that her eyes were filling with hope, instead of misery. 'You do?'

'Obviously the project needs to be thoroughly scoped and researched before production can begin. I know someone in Paris who would be an ideal mentor for this project. Actually, you know him, too.'

She quirked her head. 'Who is it?'

Draco smirked. 'Severus Snape.'


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just a little bridge chapter! Very little plot value.**

 **Malfoy's quote is attributed to Joline Godfrey, CEO of Independent Means, Inc. You'll know it when you see it.**

 **And, since I forgot to do this in Chapter 1: The story is mine, but the characters belong to J.K. Rowling.**

 **Thank you so much to all you readers, reviwers, followers and favouriters.**

* * *

Harry and Ron insisted on throwing Hermione a combination going away/cheer up party. All her friends were there: every possible Weasley, Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, the Patil twins, Cho, Terry, Ernie, Hannah, Pansy, Theo, Vincent, Gregory, Millicent, Tonks, Lupin – my word, the list goes on.

Even Malfoy stopped by The Burrow to say cheerio. Admittedly, he'd Flooed in to give Hermione the Portkey to Paris, but at Molly's urging, well, insistence, he loosened his tie, sat down in between Arthur and Seamus and had a drink, engaging in a serious discussion with little Teddy Lupin about all the possible things one could dunk into the Weasley twins' vat of Bat's Blood Soup.

Teddy had, whether by design or by instinct, changed his hair colour to match Malfoy's distinctive shade. Ginny, squeezing past them, holding a platter of cheese straws aloft out of Ron's reach, thought it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen, and resolved to convince Harry to knock her up at the earliest opportunity.

Blaise promised Hermione he'd stop by when they passed each other in one of MZ Enterprises' busy corridors earlier today, but as the night wore on, it looked like he was going to be a no-show.

Hermione's once-happy disposition slowly metamorphosed into a brittle facade.

That bloody man, she fumed, knocking back another neat Kahlua in the Weasley's kitchen. He doesn't have to do a sodding thing and he ruins my life.

'Miss Granger? I have to go; I have a conference call with a chap in Vladivostok.'

Hermione set the Kahlua bottle down, a tad unsteadily, and turned around. Malfoy was standing in the doorway, cloak on, ready to go.

Remembering her manners, she dredged up a smile and walked towards him. 'Thank you for stopping by, Malfoy.' Unlike someone else I could mention, she thought grimly. 'Sorry that Teddy monopolised your time. He's taken a liking to you.'

He repositioned his spectacles, a little self-consciously. 'Oh! Not at all. Teddy's great. Very inquisitive. I see a bright future for him.'

Teasing, Hermione said 'I think he's a little young to be recruited for MZ Enterprises.'

Malfoy's pale cheeks coloured pink. 'Indeed. But when he's of age, who knows? I might just keep an eye on him. From a distance.'

Hermione dimpled. 'Do you always think of work, Malfoy?'

He looked surprised. 'Of course.'

For a moment, Hermione felt sadder for Malfoy than she did for herself.

'Are you sure you have everything you need? You can always get in touch with my secretary if you need anything.'

'I'm sure I have everything, thank you. Also, thanks once again for organising this opportunity for me. I'll work hard and make you proud.'

He grinned, a lovely expression that had Hermione marvelling at his charismatic appeal. Honestly, if he lived in the Muggle world he'd be a famous model. Or actor. Oh well, their loss.

'Don't forget to have fun, Miss Granger. All work and no play…'

'Makes Jack a dull boy, right?'

He looked startled. 'I was going to say: doesn't just make Jill and Jack dull, it kills the potential of discovery, mastery, and openness to change and flexibility, and it hinders innovation and invention.'

Hermione's jaw was on the floor. 'Well. There you are.' She stuck out her hand. 'Anyway, thank you, and I'll see you in a year.'

He took her hand, not to shake it as she expected, but to kiss the top of her hand. Like she was an actual somebody. 'Adieu, Miss Granger.'

Somewhat breathlessly, she replied 'Goodbye, Malfoy.'

He smiled kindly, briefly; then he was gone.

Such a nice guy, Hermione reflected. Why hasn't anyone snapped him up?

Shrugging, she returned her attention to the Kahlua bottle.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: We'll get to Paris one day, readers!**

* * *

Hermione was drenched, lost, clutching an angry kneazle/cat and running late.

Welcome to Paris, Mademoiselle Granger.

* * *

Last night at The Burrow, after Malfoy went back to work, Hermione and the Kahlua bottle spent a good deal of time getting to know each other before Harry, Fred and George found her under the kitchen table, yodelling 'All By Myself' both loudly and off-key.

'Call The Daily Prophet, lads, it looks like we've discovered something Hermione's not good at,' laughed George.

'What, not holding her drink or not being able to sing?'

'Beelzebub's balls. Two things!'

The three boys got down on their knees and peered under the table.

'What on earth is that unholy din?' asked Molly, entering the kitchen with a levitated load of dirty plates and cups. 'What have you got cornered under the table?'

She joined the boys. 'Oh. Oh dear. The poor lamb.'

''Poor lamb?'' demanded Fred. 'What about our poor ears?'

'She's heartbroken, the poor thing,' clucked Molly. 'Oh, it would be so much better if she fell in love with Ron, or either one of you'–

'Stopping you there, Mum,' said Fred. 'Hermione's like a sister to us all.'

'Good. Then as her brothers, you need to help her get sober and ready for her travel tomorrow. Come on, move it!'

'Aww, Mum!'

Harry slapped a silencio on Hermione and levitated her out from under the table. He shoved her in the Floo and went with her back to her flat, where he stood her, still clothed, under a freezing cold shower while he boiled up enough coffee to sink an elephant. Hermione got through a cup and a half before she slumped over her own kitchen table, dead to the world.

Harry carried her to bed and set her Muggle alarm clock to six o'clock. He shook his head sadly at the pathetic figure, sprawled across her duvet.

He kissed her forehead gently, and apparated home to a surprisingly randy Ginny, who pounced on him as soon as he arrived.

Not that he was complaining.

* * *

At half-past six the next morning, Fred and George apparated into Hermione's flat. Bursting into her bedroom, it was as they feared: Hermione's Muggle machine was uttering unspeakable noises, but she was still lying comatose on top of her duvet.

The looked at each other; and nodded. George ignited a modified Weasley Mini Whiz Popper and tossed it into a corner of Hermione's bedroom. The firework lit up the room in extraordinary colours and emitted an unearthly shriek that beat the Muggle alarm clock by a country mile.

Hermione sat bolt upright, shrieking herself. Clutching her head, she glared at the grinning twins. 'What in the name of Godric-'

'Good morning, sunshine!' sang the twins. 'We're your valets this morning,' said Fred. 'I'm Fred, and this is' -

'George. Howdy-do, ma'am,' said George, tipping an imaginary hat.

'And we're here to get your ass to Paris.'

'Paris.' Still clutching her head, Hermione tried to think. 'Oh, SHIT!'

'The race begins,' said Fred.

* * *

Fred shoved a cranky and panicking Hermione into the shower while George brewed up more coffee and spiked it with plenty of Pepper Up potion.

Hermione peeled off her wet clothes and grabbed the soap. 'Hang on. How did I get here?'

Fred, leaning outside the bathroom door, called out: 'Well, twenty-four years or so ago, your mother and your father, who love each other very much' –

'Argh! No more, no more!' She begged.

'Harry took you home last night, and we're here to make sure you've got everything you need to Portkey to Paris when the time comes.' Fred checked his wand. 'And it's coming up quick.'

Hermione felt a lump grow in her throat. 'I'm going to miss you guys so much.'

Fred blushed. 'The sooner you start, the sooner you finish, right?'

Hermione stumbled out of the shower and into some clean clothes, barely registering what they were. She dried her hair, which promptly frizzed out in all directions. She wrangled it into a plait and hoped it would behave.

Next stop was the kitchen, where George had Peppered-Up coffee and toast laid out like a production line.

After the second coffee and Pepper Up, Hermione felt she resembled something approximating a human again. 'Thanks, boys,' she smiled. 'Aside from the Whiz Popper, which I will never forgive you for, I'll always appreciate your and Harry's help.'

The twins bowed in unison. Then Fred whipped out a parchment and a quill. 'Half an hour until blast-off,' he announced. 'In that space of time, you need to finish breakfast, complete packing and put the flat in some semblance of order for the next tenant. Doable?'

Hermione boggled. 'Hell no.'

I'm afraid the correct and only answer is ''hell yes', Miss Granger. Scull the coffee, inhale the toast and put your skates on! Whatever they may be.'

* * *

Twenty-four minutes later:

'Have you got everything?' asked George.

'Wait! Where's Crookshanks?'

'You're taking him along?'

'Well, I'm not leaving him here,' Hermione retorted. She looked at George thoughtfully. 'Unless you two want to look after him?'

'Um…. well, no, to be frank. I don't think he likes men.'

'Don't be silly. He's just protective.'

As if summoned, Crookshanks came ambling into the kitchen from the garden via his jumbo cat door, looking like he had a jolly good time the night before with a lady or ladies of his acquaintance. He trotted over to Hermione and rubbed against her legs, purring happily.

He then spied the twins, enlarged his tail to three times its normal size, stood on his tippy-toes and snarled at them.

'Who's a good boy?' Hermione cooed as she scooped Crookshanks up and gave him a cuddle. In her arms, he turned his head and gave the boys a distinctively superior smirk.

Fred and George looked at each other.

'Right, let's find his cage and shove the bloody beast in.'

'George!'

* * *

Twenty-eight minutes later:

Fred checked that the necessary items were ticked off on his parchment: luggage (multiple items), evil kneazle/cat (one, caged, in a right foul mood), and witch (one).

Check, check and checkmate.

'Wait! Where's the Portkey?' Hermione frantically patted her pockets.

The boys looked at each other, aghast. 'Merlin's musty undies, woman!' yelped Fred. 'Where did you see it last?'

'Just calm down, hon, stop and think,' counselled George. 'And breathe,' he added as an afterthought.

Hermione, running frantically around the flat, skidded to a stop and thought. 'Um, when Malfoy gave it to me I stuck it in my back jeans pocket…'

'Good girl. Where are those jeans now?' asked George.

'Um, I took them off in the shower this morning' –

All three bolted for the bathroom, fighting to get into the room first. Hermione, being the littlest, squeezed through and grabbed the jeans. Praise the pixies, there it was. She held it up triumphantly, and everyone bolted back to the living room, where her luggage and Crookshanks were waiting. One with more patience than the other.

Hermione hugged each boy hard, and kissed their cheeks. 'Thank you, thank you,' she smiled, loading herself up with luggage and Crookshanks. 'See you in a year!'

She took a deep breath, touched the Portkey, and disappeared.

Fred and George collapsed onto her sofa, absolutely done in.

After a few minutes, Fred murmured 'We're supposed to open the shop in ten minutes.'

'Bugger that,' muttered George. 'We deserve a day off.'

'All in favour?'

'Aye.'

'Aye.'

'Motion carried.'


	4. Chapter 4

Severus Snape - that's _Professor_ Severus Snape to you - had his feet propped up on one of his laboratory benches and was nodding over the local Wizarding paper when he was aroused by a tremendous banging from below.

Sighing, Severus checked his wand. She was forty-nine minutes late. Oh, how he wished he could still deduct House points.

He checked his cup. There was still a good couple of inches of café o'lait left. He warmed it up with his wand and sipped it as the banging on the main door three floors below grew ever louder.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Snape sauntered down the spiralled iron staircase and opened the door that beheld the entrance to his laboratory/domicile. The door revealed an irate Englishwoman, drenched to the bone, surrounded by assortments of luggage, and a caged, kneazle/cat, equally drenched, equally irate and probably English as far as progeny goes.

'You should have knocked,' drawled Snape.

If Hermione's narrowed eyes could shoot laser beams, her former Potions Master would be nothing a heap of smoking ashes on the black-and-white chequered lobby floor.

Collecting the last shreds of her patience, she said 'I'm very sorry for being late, Professor. I got lost finding my way here, and it was too late to drop everything off at my flat, in fact I got lost looking for my flat too, and then Crookshanks saw a poodle, and he broke out of his cage to chase it, and'-

'Enough! I have no desire to learn about the minutiae of your dreary morning. I'm a very busy man, Miss Granger, and my time, of course, will cost you Mr Malfoy's money.'

With that, he paraded up the staircase. He didn't offer to help with her cases. She looked like one of those Lady Liberator types. Besides. She has a wand.

Sure enough, Hermione's luggage sailed sedately up the stairs and marched into the laboratory, and piled themselves up by the coat stand. The lady herself followed after, struggling to contain the beast inside its wicker cage. Once she was inside the laboratory, she put the cage on the floor and stood back. The lid flew open, and the orange animal shot up at least three feet from his prison and landed gracefully on his furry feet.

His gaze zeroed in on the black-clothed Professor, and Hermione held her breath as Crookshanks stalked over to him. Snape, flicking through a potions tome, eyed it distastefully. The cat reached his destination, looked Snape straight in his distasteful eye, and vigorously shook himself. Drops of water sprayed over a vast area, but it was okay, as Snape ended up absorbing most of them.

Seething, Snape opened his mouth to berate the girl, but she seemed oddly happy. 'Oh Crookshanks, what a good boy!' she exclaimed, and darted forward to pick him. She beamed at Snape. 'Everyone thought he was a man-hater, but he's not! He likes you!'

By now, smoke was practically pouring out of Snape's ears. 'Miss Granger, I do not tolerate cats in my laboratory. They are a health and safety hazard. As in, if he stays, he will find _his_ health and safety in a hazardous state.'

'It will just be for today, sir,' Hermione assured him. 'He'll be living in the flat Mr Malfoy found me. When I find it, of course,' she trailed off.

Oh, _gods._ 'You may use my Floo and go straight to the flat after work. I have the address.'

'Oh, thank you, sir! That's a great weight off my mind!'

Letting Crookshanks jump to the floor, she headed to the coat stand and removed her coat. Looking all around the room with wide eyes, she whistled in appreciation. Bottles, jars, pots and drawers crammed with every concievable ingredient lined almost every surface. Cauldrons, pestles and mortars adorned the workbenches. A wall was crammed with potion textbooks. 'This lab is very well equipped, sir,' she marvelled. 'It's very much like the potions classroom at Hogwarts.' Then she looked a little bewildered. 'Except there's light.'

It was true. Snape's attic laboratory featured large windows across two walls. One side faced the Eiffel Tower, soaring majestically over the city a few blocks away. Hermione boggled at the view, and Crooks promptly jumped up on one of the wide sash windowsills, turned around three times, plonked himself down and fell asleep in the sun.

Ah. Parisian weather, eh?

'Yes. Unfortunately, basement rooms have a tendency to flood at certain times of the year. It couldn't be helped. Naturally, I have an ingredients store that does not have windows, and is therefore safe to store ingredients that react dangerously to sunlight.'

'Please show me, Professor.' Now he had the chit's attention.

'Come with' – Snape stopped, and looked oddly at her. 'What is that you're wearing, Miss Granger?'

'This?' Hermione looked down at herself. 'It's an AC/DC t-shirt.'

Snape looked blank.

'They're a muggle rock band. From Australia.'

'Oh. Australia.' Is the entire continent completely oblivious to fashion?

He was still sore over that ginger menace (not a Weasley, this time) shaking rainwater over his black vintage Military Frock Coat with individualised brass buttons and Chinese collar. It was somewhat protected by his lab coat, a dark voluminous affair similar to his teaching robes. Thank Merlin.

'Well, Miss Granger,' Snape said briskly. 'If you're quite ready, I would like to discuss the details of the project that Mr Malfoy owled to me.'

'Certainly, sir.' Hermione grabbed a lab coat from the coat stand and popped it on before heading to his work bench. Not that her clothing needed much protecting. In fact, Snape mused, a few colourful stains here and there might improve it. 'What do you think of it so far?'

It has merit. Commercial appeal.

'We have a long, long road ahead of us, Miss Granger. That is what I think.'

Her face fell a little.

But she pulled up a stool, and listened to her mentor pick her proposal apart.

* * *

Much, much later that evening…

Hermione, Cookshanks and her luggage staggered from the Floo into her new home for the next year. She was knackered. She stumbled around on auto-pilot for the kitchen door and opened it so that Crooks could pee over every single part of the garden and suss out the ladies. That was nice of Mr Malfoy's secretary to organise a ground floor flat. Oh. She looked down. It has a cat door. Good.

She closed the door, and retraced her steps back to the living room, where she spied a comfortable-looking settee. She threw herself face-down on it, and fell asleep.

Half an hour later, she was roused by an annoying siren of some sort. Opening an eye, she realised that the siren was in fact her cat, sitting by the settee, demanding to be fed.

Oh, lord. She'd forgotten to get food. God knows where the nearest store was. 'Oh, sorry, puss,' she mumbled. 'The cupboards are bare. Not that I normally condone this, but can't you go out and kill something instead?'

Crooks put his front paws on the settee and stood on his hind legs. There was something in his mouth. Hermione took it. It was a note.

'Miss Granger,' it read. 'To help you settle in, a weeks' worth of groceries and other provisions have been provided, which should give you time to find your way around the city. Should you need anything, one of the house-elves from the Malfoy Estate will be pleased to assist. Just recite the enclosed charm to summon one.

'Mr Malfoy hopes you will enjoy your stay at his flat.

Yours sincerely,

Lilah Jennings

Executive Assistant to Mr Malfoy.

'PS: I wasn't sure if you were bringing your cat, but I took the liberty of buying some food, just in case. It's stored in the cupboard under the kitchen sink.'

Hermione looked at her companion. 'Well. Aren't you a lucky boy? No slaughtering tonight for you!'

She hauled herself up and padded into the kitchen again, attaching the note to the fridge with a sticking charm before rooting through the sink cupboard for some kneazle food. Crooks was already dancing around his food mat, issuing noises of impatience. Hermione found a bowl and poured his biscuits into it. Setting it down on the mat, Crooks fell upon it with near kitty-orgasmic delight. She felt bad.

I'm so bloody disorganised. I have to get myself together.

Yawning, she had found a tin of soup and was checking the drawers for a tin opener when she stopped, and looked at the fridge. She tiptoed up to it suspiciously, and peered at the note again.

 _Mr Malfoy hopes you will enjoy your stay at his flat._

His flat.

Holy shit.

His fucking flat!

For the first time, she took a good look around the kitchen, turning on more lights than the bare minimum she was working to. It was beautiful. All stainless steel this and black marble-surfaced that. A muted gold glass splashback ran along the sink walls to the gigantic cooking range. There was a kitchen island with more sinks, storage and working space. The freaking fridge spat out ice cubes, for Godric's sake, just like the Muggle ones. The woodwork was coloured pale cream. Pretty jars of beans, dried herbs and spices dotted the counters here and there. There was a vase of riotously-coloured gerberas standing on the island. She loved those bloody flowers. The floor – she looked down – was smooth grey slate. She'd bet dollars to donuts it was heated in winter.

This is insane!

Malfoy loaned me his own apartment.

That's it. The second I get back to the UK, I'm nominating him for Boss of the Year. If there isn't a Wizard competition, he's going in the Muggle one.

Hermione looked at Crooks, who was splayed out on the floor, licking his chops lazily. 'How the hell did Ms Jennings know I love gerberas?' She shook her head. 'Hope Malfoy pays her what she deserves. She must be worth her weight in gold.'


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter's a little lemony!**

* * *

Hermione woke early the following morning, with the weight of the world upon her. Opening an eye, she was both relieved and annoyed to discover that Crookshanks was curled up asleep on her legs.

'Get off, you great big orange lump,' she murmured drowsily. 'There's an entire ocean of bed left to sleep on.' And so there was. Hermione and Crookshanks took up an insignificant portion of a bed so vast that when she laid down, both across the bed and lengthways, she couldn't reach the edges, not even if she pointed her toes and stretched out her fingers.

Crookshanks cast an unimpressed eye at the rest of the bed, but he slid off Hermione's legs and laid down next to her, shuffling himself closer to get comfortable and propped an elbow on her knee. Satisfied, he went back to sleep.

Hermione sighed. It was the best she could hope for.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift. What would it be like to share a bed this size with another person? she wondered idly. You could both make snow angels in the sheets and not come close to touching each other. What's the point of that? Surely if Malfoy had someone share this bed with him, wouldn't he want to be as close as he possibly could to –

Hermione's eyes shot open. No, no, no, no. Do _not_ think about your boss having sex with anyone in this bed.

Well, not _that_ boss, anyway.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she easily conjured up an image of a nude Blaise Zabini, lying next to her, drawing her naked body into his arms. Her bottom was pressed up against his erection, and Lordy, did it feel fine.

He pulled back her hair from her neck (soft, perfect waves) and trailed his sinfully wicked tongue down her neck, followed by languid kisses. In her ear, he whispered how beautiful she was, but more importantly, how incredibly intelligent she was, and he was such a damn fool for not seeing what was in front of him all this time. Could she ever forgive him?

Fantasy Hermione had no trouble whatsoever forgiving him, and neither did Reality Hermione. One hand had already crept to her breast, where her nipple was pebble-hard. The slightest touch sent electricity to her core, especially when Blaise mirrored the movement with Fantasy Hermione.

Blaise's long fingers crept between her legs, and he hummed in approval when he discovered how wet his lover was.

Soon, he had both Hermiones begging him to touch their clitoris, but he was in a mood for teasing. Running his fingers over her labia, he sucked on her nipple, whirling his tongue around the hard peak – then he gave a sharp tug with his teeth.

Both Hermiones arched their back to the sensation, cries wrenched from their mouths.

Finally, Blaise applied his thumb to her clitoris, sliding two fingers inside her.

'Please, Blaise, I need you inside me now,' begged the Hermiones.

His eyes darkened as he moved over her. She tried not to drool at the sight of his toned chest and muscular arms. He pumped his cock a couple of times with the hand he had used to pleasure her. His cock grew slick from the liquid on his fingers.

'I love you, Hermione,' he whispered.

'I love you too,' both Hermiones gasped.

His cock was between her wet thighs, just at the very beginning of her entrance. 'As Merlin is my witness,' Blaise said with intensity, 'Mt Etna, one of the most active volcanoes in the world, has erupted once more after lying dormant for almost two years.'

Huh?

Reality Hermione surfaced from her dream to find the alarm clock radio droning out a news bulletin, her fingers in her soaked knickers and Crookshanks stomping out of the bedroom with bad grace because his pillow (Hermione) was making too many sounds and movements for his comfort.

He went off in search for something he could accidentally-on-purpose tip over. The smashier the better.

Frantically, Hermione searched her mind for Fantasy Blaise and Hermione, but they had disappeared. 'Damn you, Mt Etna!' she groaned into her pillow.

Eventually, she rolled out of bed and slunk off to the en suite bathroom.

Falling instantly in love with the enormous Freestanding Slipper Clawfoot Bath with Copper Exterior, she nonetheless knew it would suicide to tempt Snape's ire for being late two days in a row. She turned on the rain shower instead and stood in the grotto-like enclosure, letting the soft water cascade over her body, and wondered how the poor people cope with only a tiny shower head to bathe under.

* * *

Professor Snape acknowledged Hermione's breezy 'Good morning' with a regal nod. That changed to a wince when she took off her coat.

Today, the Professor would be forced to shield his eyes from Hermione's ankle-length lurid orange skirt and baggy pink t-shirt with the unsettling image of a cartoon cat wearing rompers, a bow and spectacles, with the phrase 'Talk nerdy to me' underneath. Her forest of hair was twisted into a bun that appeared to have… her wand? sticking though it.

Snape wasn't sure what to be offended by first.

'Halt!'

Hermione froze mid-step.

'The first rule of this laboratory is that no-one, I repeat, no-one, says a single word to me until I have had my morning coffee.' He imperiously held out a couple of Galleons to her.

Hermione stared at them.

He waggled the fingers containing the money.

She put her hands on her hips. 'If you think for one second' –

Snape raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. 'Oh, all right.' She took the money and headed out, stomping hard on each iron step the whole way down.

Snape pulled up a stool and sat down, plonked his feet on the lab bench and reached for the newspaper. He allowed himself a slight twitch of his lips.

Snape: one. Granger: nil.

* * *

Later…

'Now, Miss Granger.' Professor Snape stood by the laboratory's blackboard, wand in hand. 'Describe to me, in your own words, what emotions you want the consumer to experience when they eat one of your products.'

'Well,' Hermione started, 'obviously I want to go for positive emotions. Happiness, joy, gratitude, amusement, hope…' she trailed off. 'What?'

Snape scrutinised the words that appeared on the blackboard. 'Rather limiting, don't you think?'

Hermione looked baffled. 'Why would I want to design a product that caused people to feel angry, miserable or jealous, for example?'

'Some people like feeling that way.'

'I daresay they are in the minority.'

'Niche market.'

She sighed. 'Can we perhaps develop the positive emotion products first, and then see how we go?'

'Fine,' grumbled Snape. 'Next: tell me whether the product will match the emotion, or if that is not a concern.'

'I'd like the products to match the emotion, where possible. For example, love could be conveyed in a heart-shaped chocolate something. A cake. Or cupcake. Or a chocolate, I suppose.'

'What conveyance would you use to house 'hope', for example?

'Um… something that grows, maybe? Like a puff pastry product? Or maybe something you fill? Like an éclair?'

'Gratitude?'

'Oh Godric, um' –

'Amusement?'

'Hang on, I haven't' –

'Miss Granger.' Snape's arms were folded and his basilisk stare was blistering. 'You will thoroughly research and outline what emotions you want to convey and what edible product they will be conveyed in. I want this completed and on my desk' – he waved his hand in the general direction of one of the laboratory benches' – by no later than six o'clock tomorrow evening. I believe some field research will be beneficial. Am I understood?'

'You are understood, sir,' Hermione said, blushing.

'Good. Also, goodbye.'

Despondent, Hermione gathered up some parchment and her coat and shuffled out into the sunlit Parisian morning.

Snape sighed with relief. Her clothes were giving him a blistering headache.


	6. Chapter 6

MZ Enterprises is an organisation with lots of fingers in lots of pies. For example, it had a division for building, one for magical agriculture, one for wand research, and even a division for owl-training. Harry Potter was Head of the MZ Enterprises Foundation, where he doled out lots of Malfoy-Zabini galleons to people less fortunate than those two particular gentlemen. Which, putting it frankly, meant practically everyone. Therefore Harry needed to be a bit circumspect.

One morning, a massive grey owl with an extremely large hooter swooped through Harry's office window. Hovering above, looking for a place to land, it sent Harry's carefully-organised correspondence sailing in every possible direction before it landed on his now-bare desk.

Harry eyeballed the feathered fiend, but he was never much good at staring contests. Sighing, he removed the document from the haughty creature's leg and tossed it some treats.

The owl was not amused. The least he should get for air-mailing a letter from Wizard Paris to Wizard London was a plate of gently-warmed escargots sautéed in garlic butter (shells removed), but it was apparent that this uncouth human with a bird's nest for hair was inadequately stocked. So he ate the treats with as much bad grace as an owl could muster, then hopped on a perch in the corner of the office for a kip.

Harry glanced at the envelope. It was a letter from Hermione! Eagerly, he sent paper plane memos to Ron in MZ Enterprises Sports Promotion and Neville in MZ Enterprises Product Testing, and organised a company owl to let Ginny know.

Then he applied his wand to the mess that the now-snoring owl had left him.

* * *

At lunchtime, Harry, Ron and Neville were assembled at a table in the spacious cafeteria, on the top floor of MZ Enterprises' considerably lofty building. Today's lunch special was toad-in-the-hole, followed by trifle, two of Ron's favourites.

Ron's list of favourite foods is pretty long.

Ron's list of foods he doesn't like doesn't fill up the back of a postage stamp.

Harry and Neville unwrapped sandwiches as Ron commenced shovelling his lunch into his mouth. Soon, Ginny arrived, still in her Quidditch practice gear, towing an ethereal Luna Lovegood behind her.

'Sorry! Got here as soon as I could!' puffed Ginny, who slid into the chair next to Harry, kissed him on the cheek and grabbed his banana. 'I found Luna wandering around outside, so I brought her up with me.'

'Hey, Luna,' Harry smiled. Neville muttered something into his sandwich, his ears red.

''Ey Oona,' said Ron cheerfully, around a mouthful of sausage and batter.

'You revolting animal!' hissed Ginny.

'Wha- ?'

'Hello Harry, Ron, Neville,' Luna breathed. 'I understand you have a letter from Hermione?'

'Certainly do.' Harry waved the letter. 'It was delivered by an owl that looks like Charles de Gaulle.'

His joke fell flat, as he was surrounded by a wizard and two witches who did not know who the leader of Free France was during World War II. They also didn't know what World War II was, either. Hermione would have roared with laughter, though. Harry sighed. He missed her.

'Well, go on! Read it!' Ginny was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

Harry opened the letter with a flourish. 'Here goes:'

 _Dear Harry and all my good friends,_

 _Sorry I haven't had the chance to write until now. Professor Snape keeps me slaving morning, noon and night on my project. He has very exacting standards. Meaning, he hates 95% of everything I do and makes me do it over and over again._

'He hasn't changed one bit since Hogwarts, then,' muttered Neville.

 _He seems to be developing some sort of nervous twitch. Every time he looks at me he seems to screw up his eyes, as if they hurt. But if I ask if he's okay, he just mutters to himself and locks himself in the ingredients store._

 _Can you believe I can see the Eiffel Tower from the laboratory windows?_

 _Oh, Paris is so lovely! I'm surrounded by the most beautiful sights, sounds and smells. Everywhere I go, there are gorgeous flowers for sale, and the food! Ron would be in heaven. The smells from the bakeries, the pastry shops, the grocers, even the butchers just seem so much more aromatic in the Parisian sun, and even better in the rain._

'Woman knows me too well,' noted Ron, making inroads into his massive serving of trifle.

 _My flat is just a hop, skip and a jump from the River Seine. I can see the famous Notre Dame cathedral from my garden! It's a very imposing structure. The downside of living close to a cathedral is their interminable bell-ringing. On my first Sunday morning, I looked forward to a nice, long sleep-in, but ended up having the shit scared out of me at half-past six in the morning by the bloody bells. Even the pigeons were pissed off. Now, of course, I have muffling charms around my bedroom._

 _As for the flat itself! Dear Godric, it's a designer's dream come true! Everything that is the best you can buy in Muggle technology and Wizarding ability is here. Did you guys know that this flat actually belongs to Malfoy? I would have been happy with a tiny garret where I would have to share the bathroom with fifty other itinerants. And he's let me have it for the whole year!_

Harry, Ron and Neville looked at each other with raised brows.

Ginny caught the movement. 'What?'

'Nothing,' they chorused.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Harry.

'I mean,' he stammered, 'we were just thinking that was really nice of Malfoy to loan his apartment to Hermione.'

'I always thought he had the presence of the Ferirama about him,' said Luna dreamily.

'Er, right. Uh, back to the letter.'

 _I found a silk tie in the spare bedroom's closet. It's the one Blaise used to wear all the time until a few months ago. He must have stayed here in this very flat and left it behind!_

'Hope Malfoy had the bed sheets fumigated,' muttered Ron.

 _I slept with the tie under my pillow. It made me feel so much closer to him._

'That's bad,' commented Ginny.

 _But then I decided I have to move on from Mr Blaise Zabini. He's never looked at me twice in his life, and he never, ever, will. So, on my way to work one morning, I put the tie in a clothing recycle bin, never to be seen again!_

'That's good,' said Neville.

 _Now I spend every lunchtime scouring the second-hand shops, trying to find the tie and buy it back._

'That's bad,' said Ron.

 _On the plus side, the second-hand shops have such a range of affordable clothing! I've bought myself a few bits and pieces._

'That's bad,' said Ginny and Luna together.

 _Well, that's all for now. I promise to write more regularly. I miss everyone so, so much. Eleven months seems like an absolute age. Please write back soon!_

 _All my love,_

 _Hermione xx_

 _PS: Crookshanks sends his love, too. He has a posh French girlfriend. He's quite mellow now._

'Regular sex will do that,' muttered Neville. Then he glanced at Luna and Ginny, and turned red. 'I mean, so I've been told.'

Ron raised his head from his trough. 'Hey, look! Zabini!' He waved his hands at Blaise, who had entered the cafeteria.

'What the hell are you doing?' hissed Harry as Blaise headed over their way.

'Hey, guys!' Blaise said cheerfully. 'Mrs Potter.' He kissed Ginny's hand. Despite her conviction that Blaise was a douche of the highest pedigree, she still blushed.

'Hello, lovely.' Blaise spotted Luna, who was creating miniature sandcastles out of sugar with her wand. 'Luna Lovegood, you are a sight for sore eyes.'

Luna looked up. 'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You should bathe your eyes with some cotton soaked in witch hazel.'

Blaise laughed easily and leaned closer to her. 'I had no idea you were such a fount of knowledge on home remedies. That's a sector MZ Enterprises has been looking to get into. Perhaps we could have a discussion about it? Just high-level only at this stage. Perhaps tonight, over dinner?'

Luna smiled at Blaise. 'I would love to!'

Blaise smirked.

'But I can't.'

The smirk froze on Blaise's lips. 'Oh? Why not?'

'Because I am here to ask Neville if he would like to go to dinner with me.'

Neville choked on his milkshake.

Blaise looked at him suspiciously, but gave in with good grace. 'Ah, bad timing,' he said regretfully. 'I understand.' He kissed Luna's hand gently. 'I hope your date goes well.'

'Zabini, we got a letter from Hermione,' said Ron encouragingly. 'Want to read it? You're mentioned in it.'

Blaise checked his wand. 'Actually, I just stopped by to get a sandwich before my next meeting. No rest for the wicked,' he shrugged. 'Maybe some other time?'

Waving casually to the group, he ambled off.

Harry sighed with relief, then whacked Ron in the shoulder. 'You berk! What if he agreed to read it?'

Ron, rubbing his shoulder, said 'Not in a million years, mate.'

'Do you think Rita Skeeter would be interested in interviewing the only woman ever known to have turned down Blaise 'Merlin's gift to witchkind' Zabini? asked Ginny.

'Yes,' Harry said firmly. 'So we're not going to tell her.'

Meanwhile, Neville had extricated himself from his milkshake with only a few splotches on his shirt remaining as evidence. Turning to Luna, he stammered 'Do you really want to go to dinner with me? Or were you just fobbing Zabini off with an excuse?'

Luna's lovely eyes looked at him warmly. 'I do want to go to dinner with you, Neville,' she said. 'I've wanted to ask you for some time. When Ginny found me downstairs, I was trying to work up the courage to ask you. It turned out to be quite easy, in the end. The Swoquix must all be in alignment today.'

Ron, Ginny and Harry all looked at each other and shrugged.

Neville burst into a smile. 'I would love to go to dinner with you, Luna,' he said without stuttering or turning red or anything.

Luna beamed and scourgified his shirt for him.

'Awww!' Ginny clasped her hands together and leaned into Harry's shoulder. 'Now we need to find a girl for Ron.'

'Could you ask me to do something a little easier, first?' demanded Harry. 'Clean out the Augean Stables, perhaps?'

'I didn't know you were into horse-riding.'

'Never mind,' said Harry dolefully. He really missed Hermione.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: My little story has over 100 followers! Thanks so much for your support. You're the ones who give my stories life xx**

 **In return, here's a nice LONG chapter for you!**

* * *

 **A month later, in Paris: morning**

'Miss Granger!' Snape flung down his wand, utterly at the end of his rope.

Hermione stood in the laboratory doorway, alarmed, clutching takeaway coffees. 'What, sir? I got your usual!'

Never had she witnessed Professor Snape in such an agitated mood. Oh, no. Had one of her experiments exploded overnight and bathed the Ingredients Store in sticky lust-inducing melted confectionery? Again?

'I've had about as much as I can stand, Miss Granger, and I can't stand it any more!'

'Professor Snape, you're scaring me! What on earth is the matter?'

The poor professor was nearly in tears. 'The matter? _The matter?_ Just… just look at you!'

Confused, Hermione did as ordered.

Serviceable trainers on her feet, because she walked to and from work. They were white. Once.

Further up, she wore a nifty combo item she found in one of the second-hand stores she haunted, searching for Blaise's tie. They were ankle-length tapered trousers with a built-in a kilt-style mini-skirt on top. Both the trousers and skirt were patterned in a beige and red tartan.

Above that, since it was starting to get cold, she wore a lime-green hoodie with the slogan 'I Was Normal Three Cats Ago'.

Her hair was half pulled back with a rubber band she discovered in a utility drawer at the flat, (Crookshanks liked to steal her elastic bands and bat them around the flat) with a jaunty yellow beret crammed on top.

Hesitantly, Hermione asked 'Is the beret too much?'

Snape let out a short exclamation, the likes of which she had never heard before. He set off on a fast pace around the laboratory. 'Miss Granger. For two months you have subjected me to the torture of your astonishing taste in attire. Only the colour blind could possibly be excused for making such hideous co-ordinations!' He stopped mid-pace and looked at her. 'Are you colour blind, Miss Granger?' he asked hopefully.

Hermione smarted. 'No, sir.'

Snape was astonished. 'Then why, _why,_ must you present yourself day in, day out looking like a rainbow digested you and threw you back up?'

'I like bright colours, sir. They make me feel happy.'

'Have none of your acquaintances spoken to you about your deplorable fashion sense?'

'I can't say I've noticed, sir. I don't really care for fashion. I'm short, and my, um, chest, isn't…. um, anyway, my hair always looks like I've been electrocuted. Nothing looks good on me, no matter what I wear. So why bother?' Her bottom lip started to wobble and her eyes looked suspiciously sparkly.

Merlin's monkey, not the bloody waterworks, thought Snape with alarm. Anything but that.

'Miss Granger.' Snape tried his best for a conciliatory tone, but he was rather rusty. 'I did not mean to speak so harshly. If you have never received instruction in the art of selecting and wearing clothing that is suitable for your frame and colouring, that is not a failure on your part.'

'If you say so, sir.' Sniffle.

'I would like you to meet an acquaintance of mine,' Snape decided (rather rashly on his part, if he must be honest, but those tears were on the brink of falling). 'He is well-regarded in wizarding circles as a _doyen_ of fashion and style. He would enjoy working with you very much.'

'Please don't go to any trouble, sir,' Hermione mumbled, her face now beet red from the embarrassment of being castigated for her fashion sense by a man who wore nothing but black, for Godric's sake. Maybe if he wore yellow, he wouldn't be so grumpy all the time.

'There is no trouble. This is a mission of mercy.' Galvanised, Snape grabbed some parchment and a quill.

Hermione dropped off his coffee and tip-toed to the Ingredients Store. Just in case something had exploded and Snape hadn't discovered it yet.

If Snape had to show another emotion this morning, he'd probably have a heart attack.

* * *

 **Later that morning**

'Now, my dear, let's take a look at you. Oh, my goodness. Let me put my sunglasses on, first. Ah, _oui_. Much…er, better.'

* * *

True to his word, Snape's large grey owl with the gigantic hooter had been despatched to summon Monsieur _le comte_ Géraud Guérin from his elegantly-appointed apartments in Avenue Montaigne.

As it was not yet midday, the man himself was still abed, so it was left to his lover Bastien to wrestle with the arrogant bird. Extracting the envelope with only two nipped fingers to show for it, Bastien tossed the irritable nuisance out onto the patio, threw some baguette with duck confit after it, then slammed and locked the French doors.

Sucking his wounded fingers, he wandered into Géraud's luxurious bedchamber. 'I know you're awake,' Bastien said mildly. 'Not even you could sleep through the racket that ridiculous bird made.'

Géraud groaned, but he rolled over and eyed Bastien sleepily. He patted the lavish duvet as an invitation, and Bastien moved slowly onto the bed in that leonine way of his that first got Géraud's attention in the first place.

Bastien kissed Géraud slowly, then dropped the letter on the duvet just as Géraud was 'waking up,' so to speak. Géraud scowled; Bastien grinned. Nodding at the letter, Bastien said 'It's from Severus Snape.'

Severus Snape! Géraud sat up so fast his head whirled. 'Don't tell me he's succumbed to my wiles at last! And at this hour of the morning?'

Bastien laughed. 'Why are you wasting your time trying to bed him? He's the oddest man I've ever met. He's probably asexual.'

Géraud rolled his eyes. 'The challenge, dear boy, the challenge!'

'He's all yours.'

Géraud pouted. 'Don't you even want to watch?'

'No!' Bastien screwed up his beautiful, chiselled, designer-stubbled face. 'He's weird and I don't fancy him.'

Géraud's pout deepened. 'But it won't be the same.'

A Gallic shrug was Bastien's only response. He got up and headed to their vast walk-in wardrobe.

Sighing, Géraud ripped open the envelope, and read the letter's contents.

' _Mon Dieu_! This cannot be!'

'What? Has Snape decided to become a priest?' Bastien called from the wardrobe.

'Worse! His acolyte is suffering from an acute ailment and is in desperate need of my counsel! I must shower and dress immediately!'

He had thrown the duvet off his legs and made his way to the edge of their gigantic bed when he heard a voice behind him say 'Oh. What a pity.'

Géraud slowly turned around. Leaning against one of the bed's four posts stood his lover, naked, casually stroking his erection while he regarded Géraud with a half-smile and glittering blue eyes. His almost-black hair was tousled sexily. His body was lean, hard and deceptively warm.

Normally Géraud would bitch and moan about the poor timing and inconvenience while Bastien's taunting smile and heavy cock grew bigger. But this morning, Géraud, nude and hard, crawled back across the bed to Bastien, saliva filling his mouth – a fine example of Pavlovian conditioning, if ever there was one.

He sank down on Bastien with his mouth, inch after inch after inch, revelling in his lover's moan of desire, and hands curling into fists in his hair.

* * *

 **Back at the laboratory again (apologies for that brief detour)**

Hermione's eyes boggled when the most beautiful man she'd ever clapped eyes on in her life, including Blaise, suddenly appeared at the laboratory door. She cowered just inside the Ingredients Store while this vision waltzed up to Professor Snape, grasped his arms, and kissed him on both cheeks. Snape did the same. The Beautiful Man searched for something in Snape's face; but couldn't find it.

The Beautiful Man shrugged, swept his Panama hat off with a flourish and tossed it onto a stool. 'Well, Severus!' he exclaimed in a gorgeous, velvety voice, 'I came as soon as I could after receiving your note!' He smirked to himself. He and Bastien did indeed come, as soon as they could. 'I am beside myself with curiosity! Where is your poor acolyte who is in such desperate straits?'

Snape looked around, but Hermione was not in sight. 'Miss Granger,' he called, 'stop cowering in the Ingredients Store and welcome our guest, lest he think you were raised in a barn.'

Reluctantly, Hermione shuffled out of the Ingredients Store, wrapping her lab coat tightly around herself. As she approached the Beautiful Man, she drank every aspect of his appearance in.

His hair was the colour of honey; accented with subtle highlights that looked natural but Géraud's stylist charged indecent sums of money to apply. It was brushed back in a voluminous style with a side part that reminded Hermione of Muggle films set in the 1950s. He had mesmeric bright blue eyes that twinkled merrily, a little at odds with his god-like beauty. Her parents would have struggled to find a finer example of dental perfection, partly hidden behind equally perfect lips.

His tailored three-piece suit would stop traffic in Diagon Alley. The trousers and jacket were of a colour that made Hermione think of biscuits, lovely golden ones that crunched deliciously and didn't turn into mulch if you dunked them in a cup of tea. His elaborately knotted tie, wrapped around a wingtip collar, was the same colour and had the dull sheen of very expensive raw silk.

Hermione had fallen in love for the second time in her life – with the Beautiful Man's morning waistcoat. Three-quarters of it was made in a luxurious blue material. The last quarter was made in the same colour and material as his suit, along with the buttons. Shiny, dark brown chukka boots completed the look.

Géraud, turn, was mannerly enough not to stare in horror at the approaching eyesore. Instead, he smiled his best underwear-dropping smile, kissed the blushing girl's hand and whispered ' _Enchent_ _é_ ,' while looking straight into her large, expressive eyes.

'You were right to contact me,' he whispered to Snape.

* * *

'Now, my dear!' Géraud cried. 'Let's take a look and see what we have to work with!'

Ordinarily, Hermione would have punched any person that assumed she had no problem with being ogled and analysed if she were a particular chunk of meat, but Géraud was so disarming… and beautiful… that she found she didn't mind. That much.

Géraud conducted a tour around her, scratching his chin and pursing his lips in contemplation. Reaching the front again, he muttered to himself 'It's just no good.'

But before Hermione could ask what he meant, he whipped out his wand, and before she knew it, her trousers had disappeared.

'What have you done?' she shrieked. 'Give me back my pants!'

Meanwhile, Snape and Géraud were evaluating her legs. 'Lovely,' was Geraud's opinion. 'Oh, yes, I can do something with those.'

Snape wisely refrained from commenting.

Géraud positioned his wand, and Hermione waited for her tartan trousers to re-appear. Instead, she found herself three inches higher off the ground, wearing a pair of black high heels. Losing her balance, she fell straight into Géraud's arms. Luckily, he was expecting her.

Hermione was torn between wanting to smell the man's cologne all day long and giving him a clip around the ear. 'What the hell's the big idea?' she hissed, as he manoeuvred her upright.

'Just wanted to see how you look in heels, darling,' he replied airily. 'You look damn good, by the way.' He dropped his voice sexily, and to her horror, Hermione felt herself growing rather damp in the knickers department. She really, really, wanted her trousers back.

'A little notice wouldn't go amiss,' she said snippily.

'Of course, _ch_ _é_ _rie,_ a thousand pardons,' Géraud murmured. He flicked his wand, and to Hermione's relief, the heels disappeared and her trainers and pants returned.

He gently poked Hermione's voluminous hoodie. 'Are you wearing something presentable under that quilt, my dear?'

She frowned. 'Yes, but' –

'Excellent.' Géraud brandished his wand again.

'Wait! I'll do it!' Hermione manoeuvred the hoodie over her head, imbuing her hair with a charge of static electricity. She dropped the hoodie to the floor and stared at her shoes.

There was an unearthly silence. Eventually, Hermione looked up. Géraud was staring at her cropped t-shirt (slogan: Witches do it Magically). More accurately, he was staring at the curve of her waist as it met her hips, and the peep of her toned, golden skin.

'Oh, my dear,' he breathed.

It wasn't a 'I'm trying hard not to vomit 'oh, my dear.' Even though Hermione had never been on the receiving end of an admirable 'oh, my dear' before, she had a butterflies-in-her-tummy feeling that this was her first. She blushed.

Géraud conjured up a free-standing floor-length mirror. Hermione's first instinct was to flee, but he lightly grabbed her wrist before she could even lift a foot off the floor.

He deposited her in front of the mirror, and raised her chin with a manicured finger when she tried to stare at her shoes again. Snape stood to the side, observing.

Géraud pointed politely at her hair. 'May I?'

Hermione shrugged.

Géraud gathered a handful of strands, then yelped as if bitten.

'Sorry,' Hermione said, embarrassed. 'My hoodie must have created static electricity.'

'Lektricity?' Géraud said, sucking his zapped fingers. 'I thought it was a thing found in Muggle buildings.'

Hermione opened her mouth, eager to launch into a detailed explanation about what static electricity was and how it was generated, but the laser beams shooting from Snape's narrowed eyes stopped her.

'Is it safe to approach you now?'

'Yes, of course, my Lord.'

'Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. 'My Lord' is my utter wanker of a father's title,' Géraud said firmly. 'Please call me Géraud.'

Hermione blushed. 'All right, then.'

Géraud approached her again, and rather gingerly gathered her hair into a loose chignon. 'Your assets!' he announced grandly. 'First: the face. Beautiful, expressive eyes, lovely shape. Cheekbones: high and well-defined, lending shape to your face. The lips: contoured upper lip, lovely full lower lip.' He peered closer. 'Chapped.'

Hermione blushed once again. 'I tend to bite my lower lip.'

'Well, you must stop.'

She smarted.

'Moving down: the neck. Long and graceful. Unfortunately obscured by the hair.'

Géraud let go of the offensive hair to demonstrate. He stepped closer behind her. 'Next: the bust.' He placed his hands over Hermione's clothed breasts, gave them a gentle squeeze, and saw stars.

* * *

Géraud came to, discovering he was lying flat on Snape's laboratory floor, listening to him tear strips off his acolyte for punching his guest in the nose.

The acolyte was giving as good as she got. 'I don't care if he's the Queen of England!' No-one touches my bloody breasts without my permission!'

'He is a homosexual, Miss Granger! What the hell does it even matter?'

'His sexual orientation is irrelevant! How kindly do you think he'd take it if I walked up to him without so much as a by-your-leave and groped his testicles?'

Snape closed his eyes in pain. It would not do to stand in his own laboratory, yelling about testicles.

Géraud sat up, groaning as he touched his squished nose. 'Mib Grayger is quite right.' He said. 'I should hab arst perbission first, ad resbected her wishes. I wab carried away wid excidement. Blease accept my sibcerest apologies.'

Hermione knelt down beside him. 'I'm sorry too,' she said ruefully. 'I didn't think – just reacted.' She pulled out her wand. 'May I?'

He nodded. 'Cab you make it prettier dan it wab before?'

She laughed. Géraud was arrested by the transformation to her already lovely face.

'I'm afraid that would be impossible.'

* * *

 **Back to the mirror…**

Géraud picked up from where he left off, this time standing to the side and using his wand as a pointer. 'The proportions between the bust, waist and hips are perfect. Legs: while you may be diminutive, Miss Granger, your legs are long and defined. In short, you are a very lovely young woman, and it would be both an honour and a pleasure to style you. If you'll have me,' he finished humbly.

Hermione did not need to feel the burning glare that Snape was directing at her. 'Well, I would love to,' she started hesitatingly, 'but I can't afford' –

'That will be taken care of, Miss Granger.' This came from Snape, spoken in his 'Don't fuck with me' tone.

'Well. I guess I'm all yours.'

Géraud smiled his underwear-dropping smile again. 'Well, no time like the present!'

He turned to Snape. 'Can I have her for the rest of the day?'

'Please, take her.'

Géraud turned to Hermione. 'Now. What was one thing I did not list as an asset?'

She thought. 'Um, my hair?'

'Correct!' he beamed. 'Next question: how attached are you to it?'

* * *

Géraud whisked Hermione away to his own hair stylist, a gruff Corsican Muggle with an exquisite touch and a criminally high hourly rate.

' _Bonjour_ , Pierre!' Géraud called as he prodded Hermione into Pierre's luscious salon. 'I have a project for you!'

' _Oui, oui_ ,' grumbled the swarthy, hairy man who appeared from behind an invisible door. He embraced and kissed Géraud, then saw Hermione and shrieked.

'What on earth?' said Pierre tremulously, pointing a shaking finger at Hermione's head.

'Ignore him, he's a drama queen,' Géraud advised Hermione. To Pierre, he replied 'This is your project, Mlle Hermione Granger.'

'Hello,' muttered Hermione.

Pierre took Géraud's arm and steered him to another part of the salon. 'Are you crazy?' Pierre hissed. 'I've seen more manageable straw making its way out of a cow's arse!'

'I grant you, her hair will require a few deep-conditioning treatments,' conceded Géraud.

'A few? There aren't enough deep-conditioning treatments in the world!' wailed Pierre.

Géraud shook him by the arms. "Pull yourself together, man!' he ordered.

'My reputation!' Pierre gibbered.

'Your reputation will be significantly advanced if you pull this off,' Géraud snapped. 'Of all the stylists in Paris, I chose you because I know you can succeed where many others will fail. Look, underneath all that hair is a rare gem of a beauty. Her hair will be her crowning glory. And you will be responsible for that crown.'

Pierre wasn't one hundred per cent sold by Géraud's impassioned speech, but he sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

Pierre closed the salon for the rest of the day, ignoring the outraged bangs on the door made by his abandoned clients. He and Géraud stood behind Hermione while she sat in front of a mirror, arguing about cuts, colours and first aid treatments for hair.

Eventually she tuned the bickering couple out and took a good, hard looked in the mirror. At her beautiful, expressive eyes; lovely shape. High and well-defined cheekbones. Full lower lip; contoured upper lip.

She shook her head. It was hard to see the woods for the trees. Or in this case, her face for her hair.

Have at me, boys, she thought. Do your worst.

* * *

 **Hours later…**

Hermione had never felt so relaxed in her life. Pierre's stubby but gentle fingers had massaged elixirs into her scalp, and worked them through every tendril. Left it in to percolate, gently rinsed, and repeated. Many times.

Géraud disappeared for the bulk of this stage, leaving Hermione feeling slightly uncomfortable with the taciturn stylist, whose English was as fluent as Hermione's French. That is, not particularly.

However, as if by magic, and it probably was, Géraud reappeared when Pierre finally judged Hermione's hair to be borderline manageable. Géraud hovered and generally got in the way while Pierre applied colour and toner, and once that was rinsed off, he and Pierre commenced their biggest argument of all: the style.

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued reading her magazine.

* * *

'Miss Hermione?'

She snorted awake, lulled by the background noise and oddly sensual touch of Pierre's fingers. Flushing, she glanced up at the mirror – and leapt out of her chair in shock.

Heart racing, she cautiously approached the mirror again. Gone were the long, frizzy kinks that circled her head like a demented halo. In its place were luscious, fat bouncy curls that just whispered over the top of her shoulders. The frizzy, split ends lay on the salon, where they deserved to be.

Where she was once the ambivalent owner of dull, mouse-brown locks, she found herself staring at rich, chocolate curls, cleverly highlighted with strands of dark gold.

It was a mother-fucking miracle.

'Well, my dear?' Géraud asked softly. 'What do you think?'

'Bloody hell!' Hermione spluttered.

'In English, that means 'very good,' Géraud explained to the now-exhausted Pierre, collapsed in a chair.

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed the start of Hermione's metamorphosis!**

 **Is everyone reading 'Do it with some style?' by LightofEvolution yet? Don't miss out, it's a treat! Bow-chicka-bow-chicka bow-wow!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ta-da! Another chapter! It's lemony... but not involving Draco. But please persist, dear readers! It's all part of the plan. Repeat after me: it's all part of the plan...**

* * *

In the MZ Enterprises cafeteria, Ron, Neville, Luna, Fred, George and Ginny were waiting with bated breath for Harry to open the latest letter from Hermione.

 _Dear Harry and my dearest friends,_

 _I am making great progress with my project, now that I have figured out how to stop my prototypes from exploding. However, Professor Snape has forbidden me, on pain of what promises to be an imaginative death, to tell anyone anything about my developments, lest the 'competition,' whoever they may be, find out and nick our ideas._

'Exploding mystery prototypes? Sad Fred thoughtfully. 'Intriguing.'

Ginny scoffed. 'You don't even know what she's making.'

George grinned. 'They explode. That's all we need to know.'

'You two are a menace to society.'

Harry ahem-ed pointedly, and continued.

 _But the most exciting thing that's happened lately_ _is my introduction to a friend of Professor Snape's._

Ron pulled a face in between inhaling a massive slab of lasagne. 'Sounds about as exciting as a day at the morgue. What's this friend's occupation? Grave digger?'

'Let's find out, shall we?' said Harry, tapping the letter.

 _His name is Monsieur le comte Géraud Gu_ _é_ _rin_

'A count?' Neville was distracted away from staring into Luna's fathomless eyes. 'That's good.'

 _and I'm not quite sure what he does for a living. Throws parties and has fun, I guess. He's absolutely gorgeous_

'That's very good,' commented Ginny.

Harry sped-read to the end of the page, then looked ahead. 'His description goes on for a couple of pages. Shall I read it or skip it?'

'Read it,' said the girls.

'Skip it,' said the boys.

Harry weighed up the probabilities of receiving the silent treatment from Ginny if he skipped it, and the moans and complaints from the boys if he read it.

They were pretty even.

He peeled off the pages relating to Guérin's heavenly appearance and handed them over to Ginny and Luna.

He resumed with the rest of the letter.

 _He's shown me how to dress appropriately for my colouring and body shape, and has given me a hairstyle that seems quite acceptable. He and his boyfriend_

'Oh, damn it!' Ginny swore. 'I knew it was too good to be true.'

 _have taken me to many parties, the opera, the ballet, the races, practically everywhere!_

 _I have no idea who is paying for my new wardrobe. Géraud pretends not to hear when I try to raise the subject, and Snape literally starts growling when I try to talk to him. Oh, well. If they're not worrying, neither should I._

 _If only Blaise could see me now!_

Snarls of disapproval erupted around the table.

* * *

 **Nine and a bit months later…**

In the charming _Bouquinistes_ Dining Room at Restaurant Guy Savoy, Hermione put her spoon down with certainty. 'No more, I swear!' she begged when Géraud tried to pass another bite of Fresh Raspberries Dotted with Avocado Cream, Accompanied by Milk Sorbet and Salted Meringue to her. 'I'm going to explode, and your gorgeous dress will be ruined.'

' _Your_ gorgeous dress, you mean.' Géraud ran his expert eyes over her with approval. She wore a dark blue cowl-necked dress with three-quarter sleeves and a slim skirt that skimmed the tops of her knees. She scorned the matching pillbox hat, however. No matter how hard Géraud begged, she wouldn't wear a hat. 'I'm not a hat girl, darling,' was her serene reply to his every entreaty.

'Well, in that case, my dear, may I escort you home?'

She giggled. 'My flat is just a fifteen-minute walk from here.'

'Ah, but you know very well that Paris at night is a different beast from Paris by day. What kind of gentleman would I be if I did not see you safely home?' he pouted.

She grinned. 'Oh, all right.'

He stood up. 'Shall we?' he asked, getting her chair.

'We shall.'

* * *

The walk to her flat was slow and abnormally quiet.

'Why so quiet, _chérie?_ ' he asked.

'I was going to ask the same of you.'

'Me? I suppose I was thinking about all the fun times we've had these past months.'

Hermione smiled. 'I won't forget them.' Then she looked wretched. 'How am I ever going to repay you for everything you've done for me?'

Géraud patted her cheek. 'How about a digestif and a coffee at your place?'

Hermione laughed. 'That can't be all.'

Géraud held up two fingers in a salute. 'Scout's honour. Except I never went to Scouts.'

'That makes two of us.'

Arm in arm, they quickly covered the rest of the distance to her flat.

* * *

Géraud removed his coat and Hermione hung it in the hall closet.

'What a charming residence, my dear,' he said as he followed Hermione to the kitchen.

'It's not mine,' she laughed as she fed coffee capsules into the coffee machine and switched it on. 'It makes good coffee,' she promised when she caught Géraud's suspicious look at the contraption.

'I am in your hands,' he assured her. 'Does this flat belong to a friend of yours?'

'Oh, no. It belongs to my boss. Well, one of them. Draco Malfoy.'

'Malfoy?'

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'Oh,' Géraud said vaguely, 'by reputation.'

Hermione placed a brandy in front of Géraud, and clinked his glass with her own.

'Are you looking forward to returning?' he asked quietly.

'Yes. And no. It will be wonderful to see my friends and family again, and to get back to work, but' – she bit her lip, then looked at him in alarm and stopped – 'I will miss Paris. And you. Very much.' She looked down at the kitchen bench, and was dismayed to see a fat tear splash onto the black marble.

Géraud hopped off his kitchen stool and encircled her with his arms. 'Oh, my dear,' he whispered. 'I will miss you, too.'

Hermione stayed in his comforting embrace, breathing in his cologne. The smell never failed to soothe her. She should buy some to take home.

At length, Géraud pulled away slightly and inspected Hermione's face for tear-induced ravaged make-up. He was pleased to discover it was minimal. With her bone structure and flawless skin, she didn't need to apply a lot, much to Hermione's relief. He laughed a little self-consciously when he realised what he was doing.

She didn't need his help with styling anymore. His Galatea was complete.

He caught a loose curl of her hair, then let it go. 'You are so beautiful, Hermione Granger.'

She scoffed. 'You made me beautiful.'

He shook his head. 'No. I added a few fripperies here and there. You have always been beautiful. Inside and out.'

Slowly he ran his thumb across her cheekbone. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Géraud moved his hand to the back of Hermione's head. 'May I?' he asked, fondly remembering the punch he received for grabbing her breasts all those months ago.

Hermione whispered 'I thought you were gay.'

He smiled a feline smile. 'I'm all kinds of things, darling.'

With that, he kissed her.

* * *

He felt so good. His body under her hands. His lips, then his tongue, on hers. She felt as if she could float off the floor.

Géraud trailed gentle kisses down her throat, until he reached her pulse. He dragged his tongue against her skin, then sucked it. Hard.

The sensation travelled straight to her core. Hermione let her head fall back while she gasped with surprise and desire.

Géraud picked Hermione up and sat her on the kitchen bench, kissing all of her skin and running his hands under her dress, up her thighs.

Hermione gripped them, making him stop.

Concerned, he looked at her face, and saw doubt and confusion.

'Tell me, _chérie_ ,' he whispered. 'I will do anything you say.'

'I – um, there – there is someone. Sort of.'

Géraud raised an eyebrow, almost exactly the same way Snape did. 'A 'sort of' someone?'

'He – I' – Oh, use your words, Hermione Jean, she thought crossly. Deep breath. that's it. 'There's a man. That I love,' she said baldly. 'But he doesn't know I exist.' She cringed.

He didn't laugh. He never would. 'Unrequited love,' he said. 'It is very hard.'

'Yeah.' Then she decided to go for broke. 'I'm a virgin, too,' she blurted.

He smiled briefly. I'm glad you told me.'

Hermione climbed down from the counter. 'I suppose you want to leave now,' she said sadly.

'No.'

Hermione looked up at him, confused.

He held out his hand and grasped hers. Bringing it to his warm lips, he kissed it gently. 'Do you want me to go?'

The kindest, most beautiful man she'd ever known was standing in her kitchen, looking like, unless she had completely misread his admittedly obvious intentions, like he wanted to have sex with her.

With. Her.

What should she do?

She stepped towards him.

'No. I don't want you to go,' she whispered.

Géraud drew her into a hug.

* * *

Now that Géraud knew about her virginity, he took his time. He slowly unzipped the back of her dress, kissing the exposed skin.

There was a slight hiatus when Géraud, naturally, hung their clothes neatly in her wardrobe. Even in the midst of all-encompassing passion, he would never lose himself so fas as to forget how time-consuming wrinkles, created from a night carelessly tossed on the bedroom floor or other convenient surface, were to steam out the next morning.

Hermione felt a little silly standing in the middle of her bedroom in her midnight-blue Simone Pérèle full bust half cup bra and matching seamless panties, but that changed to nervous anticipation when Géraud walked back in, his expensive silk boxer briefs just barely containing his erection.

He saw where she was staring, and grinned. 'This is how I feel about you,' he murmured.

She smiled shakily. 'I can barely believe this is happening.'

He kissed her doubts away.

* * *

 **Next morning**

Hermione stirred when the bloody pigeons started their usual begging routine outside her patio. She stretched. The bed sheets felt so cool and luxurious against her skin.

All her skin.

Furtively, she looked under the sheets. She was naked.

In the blink of an eye, memories from the night before marched through her mind.

Géraud's beautiful, naked body.

Gently taking her hand and placing it on his erection, showing her what he liked.

How proud she felt when she took him in her mouth, and he moaned in bliss.

The rush of sensation when he kissed the outline of her breasts and drew her nipples into his mouth with his tongue.

The cry that ripped from her throat when teased her clitoris with that same tongue while he slid one, then two, fingers into her tight, wet cunt.

He made her come shortly after. Over and over without end, it seemed.

When he slid slowly into her, holding her hands when he breached her virginity. Holding himself still, eyes locked with hers, until the pain subsided. 'Thank you for this precious gift, _chérie_.'

How they later fell into a rhythm, he surging inside her, she raising her hips to meet his every stroke.

Sweat slicked their bodies; their breathing becoming hitched, then laboured.

How he gritted his teeth as she came for him again, until finally, he let go.

Bringing her body into his when they cooled down, wrapping his arms around her.

That was all she could remember.

The room was so quiet. Had he already gone?

'I can hear your brain whirring, _chérie_.'

Surprised, she turned over. Géraud was still in her gigantic bed, still deliciously naked, grinning at her both sleepily and sexily.

Hermione smiled back, hoping to hide her relief. 'Good morning.'

He leaned over, and kissed her chastely on the lips. 'Good morning. Are you feeling okay?'

'New parts of me are sore,' she admitted. 'But not too sore.'

'Good,' he grinned. He pulled the bed sheet down to expose his erection. 'You have my permission to grope my testicles.'

* * *

 **Next chapter: How will everyone back home react to the 'new' Hermione? Draco, Blaise and her fantastic friends return! Hope you do, too xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks to everyone that's read, reviewed, favourited and followed this story so far, especially the lovely comments about Géraud, bless him!**

 **Is everyone ready for Hermione's triumphant return?**

* * *

Hermione decided to take the comparatively long way home. Rolling her eyes at the recollection of her frenzied departure, she decided that she, Crookshanks and Adèle would take a plane home.

Ah, yes. Adèle.

Crookshanks was heartbroken when Hermione started packing. He disappeared when she was ready to leave. After a frantic search, she discovered him holed up at one of the neighbour's houses; specifically the neighbour who owned the stunning, chocolate-point Birman cat named Adèle, whose massive blue eyes should be registered with the government as a weapon of mass persuasion. She was also Crookshanks' girlfriend.

As Hermione discovered, no amount of begging, threatening or bribing with treats would induce Crookshanks and/or Adèle to crawl out from under the neighbour's bed.

The neighbour, a pragmatic romantic, or romantic pragmatic, offered his Adèle to Hermione to take home. 'After all,' he said philosophically, 'you only fall in love once, eh?'

Put on the spot, Hermione wearily agreed.

Adèle's now former owner dashed off to find her cage and papers. Both cats were eventually enticed out from under the bed and packed into their cages. Hermione and the cats piled into the taxi she had ordered and was happily waiting, all this time, to take them to the airport. The long way.

* * *

Géraud and Bastien were there to say goodbye. Surprisingly, so was Professor Snape, looking stylish but uncomfortable without his robes.

He watched the howling cats being wheeled off to board the plane with a shudder. 'Well, Miss Granger,' he said stiffly, 'it has been an interesting year. However, I am certain Mr Malfoy will be pleased with the results. As am I.'

You could have knocked Hermione over with a feather.

'Thank you,' she stammered. Not knowing how to end their rather odd relationship, she held out a hand for him to shake.

He surprised her again by kissing it.

Marvelling, Hermione stood back and admired Snape in his well-cut frock coat and trousers, recognising Géraud's influence.

'I think Paris agrees with you, sir.'

Snape raised an eyebrow, as always. 'I do not disagree with it.'

Bastien was next. Hermione stepped into the gorgeous man's arms, albeit with a twinge of guilt.

'Good luck on your next endeavour,' he said. He kissed her cheeks, then said in a low voice 'You are always welcome in our home.'

Startled, Hermione pulled back, to find him grinning.

She smiled back, and impulsively hugged him again.

Finally, she immersed herself in Géraud's familiar, cologne-scented embrace. She clung to him a little longer than she should.

'Remember,' he said, 'you have always been beautiful, Hermione Granger. Don't let anyone tell you any different.'

Hermione felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. 'I don't want to say goodbye.'

He smiled. 'Then don't.'

They hugged again.

'I won't forget,' she whispered.

'Neither will I,' were his parting words.

As Hermione's shapely legs carried her off to Customs, Snape looked at the two men and raised his 'please explain' eyebrow.

Géraud and Bastien returned his stare with impish innocence.

* * *

Home!

Home, sweet, glorious home.

And earlier than her friends were expecting, too, she thought wickedly.

The cats were just as thrilled to be on British terra firma. Hermione watched indulgently as Crookshanks showed his lady love around the flat, then took her outside to meet his cronies.

Since he had been away for a year, Crooks had to re-establish himself in the local feline pecking order. A couple of dust-ups later and some glowering worthy of Snape himself, he was swiftly at the top again.

Adèle was most impressed.

Meanwhile, Hermione dragged her many, many trunks of clothes, shoes and accessories into her bedroom. Thank Godric for magic, she thought – she'd have to extend her poky wardrobe into a walk-in suite the size of her flat to fit everything in.

She collapsed onto her familiar duvet and sighed happily.

Her adventure in Paris was over.

The next one was about to start.

* * *

 **The next morning - Thursday**

Hermione looked at the imposing 'MZ Enterprises' sign on the many-storied building that cast shade onto the passing pedestrians. Wearing a suede tan pencil skirt and a cream off-the-shoulder loose-necked blouse that may or may not reveal the tiniest smidgen of creamy bra strap, given the right light, she clicked her Hermès pumps together three times, and strode confidently in through the main doors.

And who should she see, looking even more gorgeous than he did a year ago?

Blaise strolled through the spacious lobby, looking spiffy and whistling his 'I just shagged a supermodel' tune, when he caught a whiff of the most tantalising scent he'd ever smelled. Whipping around, he watched the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen approach, wearing a brilliant smile.

'Hello!' she said happily.

'Hello?' he replied, curiously.

The ethereal epiphany mock-pouted. 'You don't remember me, do you?'

'Surely I could never have forgotten such a vision of loveliness,' Blaise vowed, taking her hand and kissing it, 'but it appears that I have. Will you put me out of my misery and tell me your name?'

She laughed. 'No, I'm having much too much fun!'

'So be it,' Blaise smiled. 'But I won't rest until I find out. So, where are you bound for with those beautiful blooms, my lady?'

The mystery lady smiled at the collection of orchids she held in her arms. 'The Executive Floor, sir.'

'Why, that's exactly where I'm headed!'

'What a coincidence!' she laughed.

'Well, in that case, may I?' He held out his arm.

'You may,' Hermione replied, and took his arm.

* * *

'Miss Jennings!' Hermione cried as she strutted along the Executive lobby to the Secretaries chamber. 'Thank you so much for your help in Paris. I bought these for you. I hope you like them.' She handed over the bouquet to the rather flustered, normally unflusterable lady.

'Oh, Miss Granger, they're adorable! Thank you so much!' True to form, Miss Jennings recovered quickly from her fluster and marched off to find a vase.

'Miss Granger.'

Hermione turned around to see Blaise smiling sheepishly at her. 'How could I have been so stupid?' he said, shaking his head.

'Hello, Blaise!' she stepped forward and briskly shook his hand, grinning. 'Have I really changed that much?'

Bloody oath! thought Blaise greedily.

'Draco!' Blaise saw him approach from the lifts. 'Look who's come home!' he said proudly.

Draco collected his mail from Miss Jennings as he smiled at Hermione. 'Miss Granger! Welcome back. You look lovely.'

'Thank you, Malfoy,' Hermione responded happily.

Draco went into his cavernous office, Miss Jennings close behind, ready to start the day. Before he forgot, he asked Miss Jennings to organise a private owl. His message was:

 _G_ _é_ _raud,_

 _You have achieved a stunning metamorphosis. As discussed, please forward all remaining accounts to me for settlement._

 _Draco._

* * *

Hermione followed Blaise into his equally spacious office. His greedy eyes could barely take in the angel that stood before him.

'Have you been back long?' he asked.

'Just got in yesterday,' Hermione smiled. 'I have a proposal to put to the Board tomorrow.'

'Uh-huh,' said Blaise, barely listening as he watched the rise and fall of her breasts. 'Oh! I'm on the Board!'

'I'll see you tomorrow, then,' Hermione said mischievously.

'Tomorrow!' That reminded Blaise. 'There's a soirée at Malfoy Manor tomorrow evening, after the Board meeting. Some meet and greet with wizard investors and wives.'

'Really?' she smiled slowly.

'Yes. Rather dull, I'm afraid, but would you like to go?'

'With you?' Hermione's heart skipped.

Blaise looked evasive. 'I'm afraid I'm escorting an important client's daughter to the event. But I'll look for you when you get there.'

'I would love to go,' she smiled seductively.

Blaise's cock, never idle for long, sprang into action.

'I have just the dress. I'll make a note to take it out and press it. See you later.'

Blaise watched the seductive sway of her hips as she walked away.

'What a girl!' he said admiringly.

* * *

'Knock, knock!'

Harry looked up from his work and boggled at the vision lounging in the office doorway.

'H- H- Hermione?' Unsteadily, he got up from his chair. 'Is that you?'

'Hi, Harry!' Hermione laughed and sprang over to his desk to hug him fiercely. 'You look like you've seen a ghost!'

'…Surprised to see you,' he squeaked.

Hermione stepped back and looked at him fondly. 'You haven't changed a single bit!' she marvelled.

Meanwhile, Harry's brain was working overtime to process every single thing that had changed about his dear friend. He was also mindful, with the benefit of hindsight that comes from four years of marriage, that pointing out to a woman that something looks different may have life-altering consequences if not done correctly.

'Uh, your… hair!' he exclaimed. 'Uh. Wow!'

Hermione grinned and patted her perfect curls. 'Yeah. It was the first thing Géraud changed.'

'It looks… you look… stunning!' poor Harry stuttered.

'You know, I'm still the same person underneath,' she said seriously.

'Of course you are.' He drew her into another hug.

'We have to get everyone together to celebrate!' Harry cried. 'How about tomorrow night? I'm sure Molly and Arthur will be happy to let us use The Burrow.'

'Sounds wonderful, but I can't do tomorrow,' Hermione gushed. 'I've been invited to a party at Malfoy Manor!'

'Malfoy Manor?' Harry boggled. 'By whom?'

Hermione grinned. 'By Blaise!'

Harry felt faint. 'Blaise Zabini?'

She touched his nose playfully. 'How many Blaises do you know?'

One too many, Harry thought grimly. He schooled his features and said 'No worries. How about Saturday?'

'Sounds perfect,' she said happily. I'm going to say hi to Ron and Neville. See you at lunch?'

'Ah, sure.'

She blew him a kiss and floated away.

Zabini, growled Harry to his desk. How long was Hermione in the building for before his pussy radar went off?

Oh, Harry. You don't want to know the answer.

* * *

The glass-shattering scream of 'OMIGOD!' heralded Ginny, Fred and George's arrival at the cafeteria. Harry had been a good husband and owled his wife and brothers-in-law about Hermione's arrival at the earliest opportunity.

His grateful wife leapt over her husband, his lips pursed for a kiss, and enveloped Hermione in a mighty bear hug. 'Look at you!' she exclaimed at a slightly lesser rate of decibels. She twirled Hermione round and round, drinking in all the changes and new duds. 'Godric, you're almost unrecognisable!'

'Potter, keep your wife under control,' said George, grinning. 'She'll end up getting us all banned from the cafeteria. Which actually doesn't bother me, Fred or Ginny, since we don't work here.'

'She's your sister, too!' Harry retorted.

'The husband assumes primary responsibility,' intoned Fred. 'That's what you get for marrying our only sister and forcing us to acknowledge that you have sex with her.'

'What about when you vanished my clothes, stuck me to a streetlamp in Diagon Alley and invited passers-by to throw rotten fruit and vegetables at me? What was that for?'

'That was your stag do.'

'Stop tormenting him, you too!' Laughing, Hermione hugged and kissed the twins.

'Wow, Hermione,' Fred whistled. 'I might have to revise my policy of viewing you just as a sister.'

'I'll tell you what I told Ronald,' said Hermione with a twinkle in her eye. 'You're all my brothers, and that's the way you'll stay.'

Fred and George looked at Ron, who sat morosely at the table, demolishing a massive steak sandwich. 'Rejected before morning tea, boys,' he confirmed.

George peered at Neville. 'What's up with Longbottom?'

Ron looked over. Neville was holding his sandwich to his lips, frozen in place, his glassy stare focussing on nothing.

'Hermione's changes in appearance were too much for him to process. He's much better than he was before.'

'So,' Fred said, slipping into the empty seat next to Hermione and interrupting Ginny who was bombarding her with questions about clothes, shoes, the Parisian nightlife and Parisian men. 'I'd love to hear more about your exploding prototypes.' He winked suggestively.

Hermione hugged him again. 'I've missed you all so much.'

* * *

The sole occupant of the lift, Draco watched the doors open on the fortieth floor and Hermione stroll in.

'Miss Granger,' he smiled. Discreetly, he ran his eyes over her. Merlin knows how Géraud did it, but as well as achieving such a dramatic physical change, he'd bolstered her confidence and sense of self-worth, too.

'Malfoy!' I'm so glad I got you alone,' she purred.

Draco blinked. Surely she didn't mean…?

'I wanted to thank you, in private, for everything you did for me this past year,' she said earnestly.

'Everything?' How did she know?

'The secondment to Paris, letting me stay in your _own_ flat… yes! Everything! It was best year of my life, and it's all because of you.'

Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him.

Later, all he could recall of that moment was the subtle but heady fragrance of her perfume, and softness of those luxurious curls beneath his chin. He could not recall how soft her breasts felt pressed up against his chest. At all.

Or the instinctive reaction in his groin.

She released him, and stepped back.

'I'm glad you had a wonderful time,' he murmured. 'All set for the Board presentation tomorrow?'

'You bet!' She said firmly. 'And I guess I'll be seeing you at Malfoy Manor afterwards!'

'Afterwards?' Draco said faintly.

'Yes! Blaise invited me to your party! Isn't that wonderful?'

The lift chimed. 'This is my floor. Cheerio!' She waggled her fingers at him and stepped through the open doors.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Blaise. What the hell are you doing?

* * *

 **Next chapter: The Board presentation – and the party!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Friday morning: Board meeting**

Hermione was confident. She was wearing her confident skinny black trousers, her confident pewter multi-strap double-layer camisole, her confident black jacket and her confident texture heels with ankle straps. She was also wearing her confident Heidi Klum Dress Blues French lace strapless bra and matching thong brief - not that anyone would be seeing those, of course.

When Miss Jennings told her to go into the Boardroom, she strode in confidently (of course), her hips swinging subtly. She laid her papers on the Boardroom table in front of her. She looked up, nodded at the Board members and smiled professionally.

Typically, there were no other women in the room (apart from Miss Jennings). All but two of the wizards were on the declining side of middle age. Of those, Lucius Malfoy was by far the youngest and most handsome, standing by an open window, where his son had banished him to smoke his cigars.

All of the older wizards wore traditional robes. For a second, Hermione wondered if she should have worn them, too. But Blaise and Malfoy were in Muggle clothing; both with their jackets removed and their sleeves rolled up, ties slightly askew.

Hermione was suddenly struck by how attractive Blaise and Malfoy both were. One was dark-featured, the other light; one was serious, the other carefree. Both were two of the most powerful and influential men in Wizarding Britain.

Draco cleared his throat. 'Presenting now is Miss Hermione Granger, Head of Research and Development. She has recently returned from a year in Paris, where she worked closely with the eminent Potions Master Severus Snape. Miss Granger, when you're ready.'

Thank you Mr Malfoy.' She glanced at Lucius, then winked at Draco. 'Junior.'

Draco was going to have to implement a new company policy. No more Mr Malfoy Juniors or Seniors. If he were a lesser man, he'd be starting to feel inadequate. In places.

With a flick of her wand, Hermione sent presentation parchments around the Boardroom table, and to Lucius by his window.

'I have developed an edible product that imbues the consumer with particular positive emotions.' She flicked her wand again, and a three-dimensional image of a selection of luscious chocolates, each one labelled with its ingredients, flavour and emotion, appeared over the table.

Opening paragraph completed, she launched into the presentation itself.

* * *

She wasn't expecting rapturous applause. Truly. But she was expecting something a little more than the reception she was given, which was total silence.

'Are there any questions?' she asked.

A short, curmudgeonly wizard with a massive ginger handlebar moustache snorted into apparent life. 'It sounds dangerous, missy.'

Technically not a question, and she could have done with the 'missy', but it was a response, at least. 'The products have been tested on witches and wizards, and no side-effects have been experienced.'

Lucius, now sitting at the table since he had run out of cigars, asked 'Who were they tested on?'

'Me,' Hermione said perkily. 'And some friends.'

Blaise leaned forward a little. 'You're saying that you self-tested all of the products… including the Lust one?'

Hermione let a slow smile play across her lips. 'That's correct,' she said in a sultry voice.

She didn't see almost every wizard (that was awake) adjust themselves beneath the Board table.

'Can you overdose?' Draco asked. 'For example, what would happen if someone ate half a dozen Joy chocolates all at once?'

'Excellent question, sir,' Hermione said. 'Aside from the fact that they'll probably feel sick because the chocolates themselves are very rich, we've designed the products so that the effects nullify after one serving.'

She grinned at Blaise. 'That means, Mr Zabini, you can eat half a dozen Lust chocolates without causing permanent… effects.' She winked. 'If you're capable, that is.'

Blaise returned her grin with interest. 'Do not doubt my prowess, Miss Granger.'

Draco rolled his eyes. Time to stop this before Blaise started shagging Miss Granger on the Boardroom table.

'What would happen if a child ate a Lust chocolate?' he asked sharply.

There were lots of 'harrumphs' around the table.

Serenely, Hermione replied 'We designed the products to be potent only for consumers that are over the age of consent. We tested them on some local children, and I'm happy to say that there were no displays of immoral sexual behaviour from the children. Of course, the amount of caffeine in the Lust product did result in heightened levels of hooliganism.'

'Was your sample representative?' grouched another old codger.

'It was,' she replied. 'The data is outlined in your presentation parchment.'

Hermione waved her wand, and a small, exquisitely-wrapped box materialised in front of each Board member. 'Samples of each product are provided for you,' she said. 'As the Muggles say, 'the proof is in the pudding.' Please try them and let me know what you think.' Then she grinned. 'Probably at home is best.'

She met Draco's eyes confidently.

'Are there any further questions for Miss Granger?'

Every Board member was staring, transfixed, at his box.

'In that case, thank you for your presentation, Miss Granger.' He grinned. 'And for the samples. The Board's decision on whether to proceed with production will be announced a week from now.'

'Not at all, sir. Thank you for this opportunity.' She collected her things and sailed out the door.

Lucius, Blaise and Draco watched her retreating figure.

'A fine figure of a woman,' Lucius mused.

Draco glared at Blaise before he could agree.

* * *

On the other side of the Boardroom door, Hermione smiled to herself. She was confident the proposal would go through. And how sexy did Malfoy look when he grinned?

Wait.

Blaise.

Blaise was sexy. Good grief, girl! She laughed to herself. Malfoy, sexy?

* * *

 **Friday evening**

Once Ginny found out that Hermione was going to the Malfoy Manor party, she insisted upon offering her services as dresser. Harry tagged along, and Floo-called Ron, Fred and George to meet him at Hermione's before they headed out to the pub.

Which is why Harry found himself wincing on Hermione's sofa with a fluffy cream cat purring loudly and kneading Harry's lap in ecstasy, as a nonplussed Crookshanks and equally nonplussed trio of Weasleys looked on.

Hermione's hallway door banged open. Ginny popped through. 'Announcing the most beautiful witch in the world, Miss Hermione Jean Granger!'

'Give over, you silly woman!' Hermione laughed as she slipped into the living room.

Every man was struck dumb.

The apparition standing before them was dressed in a one-shouldered Grecian gown in a beautiful, soft, sage green that complemented her golden skin. Her hair was twisted into a soft chignon, and around her neck she wore a gold choker adorned with tiny diamonds – a farewell gift from Géraud and Bastien. She would probably have kittens if she knew its real value. They told her it was only worth a quarter of its true worth, and she still practically fainted at the amount.

Thankfully Neville wasn't present to witness Hermione the sophisticated party-goer. Judging by his reaction to Hermione the office worker, he'd probably have a heart attack.

Ron relocated his tongue and his senses first. 'Bloody, bloody hell,' he breathed.

Hermione dimpled. 'Thank you for your eloquent feedback.'

'If you want compliments, woman, come straight to the experts,' announced Fred grandly. 'Miss Granger, you are a vision. An oasis of beauty in a desert of frumpy women. Present company excluded, of course,' he tacked on, acknowledging Ginny's offended sniff.

'You will have all of those society biddies sobbing into their champagne,' added George.

'Seriously, 'Mione, you are beautiful,' Harry said.

Hermione beamed. 'Thank you all so much.' She then noticed Adèle, who was now curled up on Harry's lap. Crookshanks was sitting on the arm rest, looking at Harry oddly. 'Oh, that's wonderful! Adèle likes you!' she cooed. 'Maybe Crooks will learn by her example!'

Ginny gave Hermione a careful hug. 'Have a fabulous time tonight,' she said. 'Make sure you do everything I would do!'

'Ginny!' said Harry, scandalised.

Hermione blew her friends a kiss. 'Don't wait up!' she laughed as she stepped into the fireplace. 'Malfoy Manor!' she announced, and a swirl of smoke she was gone.

The boys looked at the empty fireplace.

'If Zabini lays so much as a finger on her tonight, I'll hex them all off,' Harry growled.

'Get in line,' muttered Ron.

'For Godric's sake, you lot! Ginny said, exasperated. 'She's not a child. She's the brightest witch of our age. Let her live her life.'

'You know who would be better than Zabini?' Fred mused.

'Anybody?' suggested Ron.

'Yeah. Even Malfoy would be better than Zabini.'

'Does he like women?' George asked. 'I can't recall him having a girlfriend.'

'If he's gay, Hermione could probably change his mind.'

* * *

 **At Malfoy Manor**

Hermione stepped out of the Floo, and was greeted by a deferential house-elf clad in the Malfoy livery.

Feeling heady, she wandered slowly through the hall and into the ballroom, not registering the glances and muted comments that ebbed and flowed around her. She had eyes for only one man.

And that man was dancing with this fiancée, Pansy Parkinson.

Blaise was dutifully touring Pansy around the ballroom, keeping an eye peeled for Hermione. At last, he spotted her, surrounded by a gaggle of awestruck men.

Theo Nott, innocent bystander, yelped as Blaise grabbed the back of his collar.

'Nott, would you mind terribly stepping in for me?'

'Uh' –

'Pansy, darling, you'll have to excuse me. 'An important client has just arrived, and I have to' – Blaise disappeared before Pansy registered he was gone and she had a new dance partner.

One of the gormless hangers-on was proffering Hermione a glass of champagne as Blaise arrived. 'Thanks, mate,' he said, accepting the glass with one hand and taking Hermione's hand in the other. Kissing it, he gave her his own patented knicker-dropping smile and said 'Miss Granger, you look positively ethereal.'

Hermione blushed and smiled.

Disappointed, the gaggle of awestrucks melted into the woodwork.

'Champagne?' he asked. 'Or would you prefer to dance?'

'I would love to dance,' she said shyly.

Blaise immediately vanished the glass he was holding. 'Of course, my lady,' he smiled.

Narcissa joined her son and husband near the ballroom entrance, the latter smelling suspiciously of cigar smoke.

'Who is that girl with Blaise?' she demanded.

'Hermione Granger, Mother,' said Draco.

'Really?' It wouldn't do to squint like a commoner, so she accepted her son's word for it. 'She's certainly… changed.'

'Indeed she has,' said Lucius.

Narcissa glared. 'Is that cigar smoke I smell?'

Lucius did an excellent impersonation of someone looking offended. 'A fine thing, indeed, not to be trusted by one's own wife!' he sputtered.

The song finished and the classical string quartet began another. Blaise and Hermione danced on, heedless, looking into each other's eyes and smiling like idiots.

'Do you think it's serious?' asked Lucius.

Draco nodded. 'Unfortunately.'

'Well, it has to be stopped!' Lucius declared. 'Can't have an employee ruin one of the most important mergers in one hundred years.'

'I agree.'

Silence.

Suspicion rippling through his body, he turned his head to view his parents looking at him expectantly.

'Why me?'

'You're CEO.'

'Co-CEO.'

'The only CEO not presently thinking with his penis.'

'Lucius!' Narcissa reprimanded.

'I'm sorry, dear, but Blaise marrying the Parkinson chit was an ironclad condition of our merger with Parkinson Holdings. If Blaise throws Miss Parkinson over for Miss Research and Development, we kiss this one-in-a-lifetime opportunity goodbye.'

'Don't panic, Father, it agitates your asthma,' said Draco.

'Asthma, schmasthma,' grumbled Lucius.

'Anyway,' Draco continued, 'I have a plan.'

'Good!' said Narcissa. 'What is it?'

Draco smiled thinly. 'I will seduce Miss Granger away from Blaise.'

He was met by astounding silence.

'What?' he asked, exasperated.

'Er, don't take this the wrong way, son,' Lucius said delicately. 'But are you sure you know how?'

* * *

After five consecutive dances in a row, even Blaise could see they were attracting attention. Pansy was currently occupied by Draco, steering the confused lady around the dance floor.

'Is that woman your new important client?' asked Pansy, straining to look at the couple dancing far away. 'She looks familiar.'

'Um.' Draco couldn't come up with anything better. 'Yes.'

'She must be very important,' Pansy said doubtfully. And suspiciously.

With alarm, Draco saw Blaise and Hermione part. Hermione went outside, no doubt to the gazebo, and Blaise went to the bar to fetch two glasses and a bottle of champagne.

Shit.

Draco cast around, and saw Theo Nott head past. 'Nott, would you mind? Thanks awfully.'

And Nott and Pansy found themselves dancing together again.

Draco made tracks to the bar.

'Blaise! Glad I found you. Bit of an urgent meeting, I'm afraid.'

'Right now?' Blaise looked nonplussed. 'But I'm meeting Hermione in the gazebo.'

'It's very urgent. But it won't take long.'

'If you insist.' Blaise pocketed the wine glasses and followed Draco into the study.

He shut the door to the sounds of the party, and headed over to Lucius and Draco. 'So? What's up?'

A certain part of your anatomy, thought Draco grimly.

'We are here to remind you that you are an engaged man,' announced Lucius.

'Pansy?' Blaise waved a hand airily. 'She'll understand.'

'Understand what?' Lucius demanded. 'You know damn well that this merger is dependent on Pansy marrying into MZ Enterprises.'

'So?' Blaise smiled. 'Let Draco marry her.'

'Me?' Draco barked out a laugh. 'Who would have this shell of a man with ink in his veins and a heart that's long been sold to the mistress of cold, hard trade. I'd probably insist that the kids be named after economic theorems.

'Besides,' Draco continued, 'I think you should be with Miss Granger. If you love her, that is.'

'What?' shrieked Lucius.

'Really?' Blaise's eyes lit up. 'You mean that, Draco?'

'Of course,' Draco said stoutly. 'If you love her? Then have her.'

'Now hang on just a minute,' Lucius snarled. 'Blaise, you will get rid of Miss Granger immediately and apologise to your fiancé.'

'Now, come on, Father,' Draco began.

Lucius's normally pale cheeks were starting to turn an interesting shade of purple. 'What about the merger?' he demanded.

'Hang the merger, Father! This is love! It doesn't happen every day.'

Lucius's eyes were starting to bulge.

'Now look,' Draco said in a conciliatory tone. 'There's no reason why we can't sit down and discuss this like rational wizards. Father, Blaise, have a seat.'

'Wow, Draco, I really can't believe you're rooting for me on this one. What did I do to derserve a friend like you?' said Blaise happily, as he sat on one of the study's hard leather chairs.

Then he screamed like a little girl.

* * *

Hermione slowly paced the gazebo, breathing in the jasmine and hugging herself with delight. It seemed so easy, so perfect. Blaise Zabini saw her. Danced with her. And invited her to this special place, to be with her. Alone.

Seemed to be taking his sweet time getting here, though.

She heard footsteps approach, sure and confident. Her heart lifted.

Out of the fairy light-lit darkness, a tall man appeared. And smiled.

'Hermione.'

'M-Malfoy?' she gasped.

* * *

'You were expecting Blaise?' Draco asked.

'Well, um, that is to say, yes,' Hermione stuttered.

Draco eased into the gazebo, leaning nonchalantly against a post. 'I'm afraid he got tied up with urgent company business,' he said gently. 'He sent me as his proxy.'

'Oh.' Hermione wasn't sure what to think.

The slow, beautiful strains of a waltz filtered through the gardens.

'I expect you were going to dance here with him,' Draco said sympathetically.

'I expect so,' Hermione said wistfully.

'Well, I'm a poor substitute for Blaise, but as his proxy, would you mind terribly if I danced with you?' He held out his hand.

Hermione smiled. 'Of course not.' She stepped into his arms.

They waltzed slowly around the gazebo. Draco was an excellent dancer, she thought. She had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Being held in the comforting embrace of a confident man. Inhaling his scent, reminding her of –

'Oh!' she whispered.

'Is everything okay?' Draco asked solicitously.

'Yes,' she replied. 'Your cologne. It reminds me of Paris.'

'Paris seems to agree with you,' he commented.

She was reminded of Snape's words. 'I do not disagree with it,' she grinned.

They danced some more.

'Your Board needs some women,' she commented. 'Or at least some men who can stay awake through a presentation.'

He laughed, a low, intimate sound. 'You're right,' he said.

The music drew to a close.

They stood in the middle of the gazebo, neither really wanting to let go.

Draco's next words brushed gently over her hair. 'I imagine Blaise would have kissed you now.'

Hermione nodded sadly. 'Maybe.'

'I may be just the poor substitute, but as his proxy I am happy to stand in for him.'

Hermione looked up at him, surprised.

Draco lowered his head and kissed her, a slow, lingering, tingling kiss.

Hermione looked away, stunned.

'Just his proxy,' Draco said gently.

The music started again. Draco led her into another slow dance.

She barely noticed.

* * *

Blaise groaned theatrically as the Healer pulled another glass shard from his once-pristine but still shapely buttocks.

He groaned again.

And again.

'Oh, come now, it can't be that painful!' Lucius was observing the proceedings with a fascinated eye. 'The Healer numbed your bum.'

'It's not that,' Blaise moaned. 'It's the music! I should be holding that delectable body in my arms right now. Yet here I am, lying on my stomach, having slivers of glass picked out of my arse!'

'Hmph.' Lucius turned to the Healer. 'How do you know you've got all the pieces?'

'Simple. We'll rebuild the wine glasses from the pieces we have. If any are missing, I'll have another dig around.'

Blaise's resulting groan was the loudest so far.

* * *

 **A/N: So! Blaise is out of action, and Draco has given Hermione something to think about! What will happen next? Stay tuned, dear readers!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Monday morning**

Draco, tired of being pestered by Blaise's countless owls, dropped by his luxurious apartments.

'Draco! Thank Salazar himself! I've been driving myself mental, wondering what's going on!'

Draco followed the sound of Blaise's plaintive voice to the living room, whereupon he bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

Blaise lay on his stomach across a well-appointed sofa, dressed in a rich green smoking jacket and pyjamas. His rather enlarged posterior was being enthusiastically fanned by a house-elf with a large flax fan that was practically as big as he was.

'You know, you remind me of a certain type of monkey,' Draco mused.

'Oh, don't start,' Blaise growled.

Draco plopped himself down in an armchair and accepted a coffee from another house-elf. He took an appreciative sip, enjoying the look of impatience on Blaise's face.

'Well? I'm on tenterhooks! What happened on Friday night? Was Hermione mad that I didn't show?' He waved the fanning house-elf closer. 'The cooling charm's worn off again,' he muttered.

The house-elf happily applied another cooling charm to Blaise's buttocks, and started fanning again.

'No, not mad,' said Draco. Just… disappointed.'

Blaise groaned into the sofa. 'Oh Gods, the poor woman.' He looked up, alarmed. 'What did you tell her?'

Draco shrugged. 'The truth.'

Blaise's face turned purple. 'What the f' -

'That objections were made to your seeing her, but you stood up and defended her like a man!'

'Thanks!' Blaise replied, perking up.

'Then you sat down and cried like a little girl.'

Blaise buried his head in the sofa again.

'What did you think of Hermione?' Blaise asked, his voice partly obscured by sofa cushions.

'She's a wonderful woman,' Draco replied. Not a lie.

'Were you nice to her?'

'As nice as I could be.'

Blaise turned his head and smiled in relief at Draco. 'You're a prince among men, mate.' He shuffled, trying to get comfortable. 'I've been trying to write a poem to her, but I'm having trouble with some of the lines. What rhymes with luck?'

Draco hid his snigger behind the delicate coffee cup.

He pretended to think. 'Um… duck?'

Blaise thought. 'Maybe,' he said thoughtfully.

'Once I got back from keeping Hermione company,' said Draco, 'I spoke to Father at length about your engagement to Pansy. We think the Board members will agree to a proposal that we provide a substitute for you instead. Of course, we'll have probably have to sweeten the cauldron with a few million Galleons' -

'Take it straight from my personal vaults!' cried Blaise.

'Of course, we don't want this getting out' –

'Of course,' agreed Blaise solemnly.

'So, until we can find an alternative groom, it would be best if you and Pansy still remain engaged. For now. It's most important that Pansy and her father are not informed yet.'

'Oh. Okay.' Blaise was a little disappointed. 'I can still see Hermione, right? When I'm better?'

'As long as you're discreet,' Draco warned.

'This – this is amazing! How can I ever repay you?'

Draco waved a hand airily.

Suddenly, Blaise had a terrible thought. 'But what if some leering Lothario gets to her before I'm back on my feet again?'

'It's possible. She's very beautiful,' said Draco.

'That can't happen. I won't let it happen,' said Blaise with determination. He bit his lip. 'But how?' he asked thoughtfully.

Draco sat back and waited.

'I know!' Blaise tried to sit up but yelped when he remembered his tender bum. 'Draco! I need you to do me a massive favour!'

'Me?' Draco asked innocently.

'Yes! I need you to take Hermione out for me! Show her a good time! That'll keep the vultures at bay.' He looked at Draco sympathetically. 'I know it's going to be a dreadful bore for you, but there's no-one else I can trust with such a delicate task.'

Draco did his best to look noble and self-sacrificing. 'I'll do my best,' he said solemnly.

A beautiful smile spread over Blaise's handsome features. 'You're a true friend, you know? There's not many who would sacrifice themselves like this.'

Draco stood up. 'I promise you I will give this project my undivided attention. Don't you worry your pretty little head.' He patted Blaise's posterior briskly and strolled to the Floo, laughing at the sound of Blaise's yelps of pain.

'Oh! Hello, Pansy,' Draco said as she stepped out of the Floo. 'Just follow the screams to find him.'

'Thanks, Draco,' Pansy said, smiling. Then she looked confused. 'I just can't work out why Blaise sat on a pair of champagne glasses in the first place.'

'He's a very deep and enigmatic man,' Draco replied.

* * *

 **Later that morning, in Draco's office**

'So he bought it?' Lucius asked through a cloud of cigar smoke.

Draco waved the smoke away from his face pointedly. 'Yep.'

Lucius shook his head in bewilderment. 'Thank Merlin he uses his brain to make business decisions and not his John Thomas.' He took some more enthusiastic puffs of his cigar. 'So, what's your plan for the chit?'

'Do you really have to smoke in here?' Draco asked irritably.

'Narcissa's got the house-elves spying on me at home,' Lucius grumbled. 'And don't change the subject. It's been a long time since anyone saw you with a girl. Are you sure you know what you're doing?'

'I'm sure it will come back to me,' Draco snarled.

Lucius eyed his son shrewdly. 'I don't have to give you The Talk again, do I?'

Draco pointed his father to the door.

* * *

 **Hermione's office, Floo-call with Ginny**

'No,' Ginny gasped. 'No freaking way.'

'Yes,' Hermione countered.

'Ginny's eyes were like saucers. 'Draco Malfoy kissed you?'

'Yes. I can barely believe it myself. But it was supposed to be on Blaise's behalf.'

'Uh-huh,' said Ginny sarcastically. 'But it was Malfoy's lips you locked with, not Blaise's.'

'Er, yeah.'

'Wow,' Ginny breathed. Then: 'So! You kissed! Now tell!'

'It was… nice.'

Ginny looked sceptical. 'Just 'nice'?'

'Well, no,' Hermione said uncertainly. 'It was pretty wonderful, actually.'

'Any tongue?' Ginny asked gleefully.

'No! Bloody hell, Gin!'

'Did he grope you?'

'No! He was a perfect gentleman!'

'Hmm,' said Ginny. 'It's a start, I suppose.'

* * *

 **Lunchtime, R &D storage room**

'Hermione! Psst. Hermione!'

She looked up from her stocktake of Research and Development's rather shambolic storage room. Apparently the entire time she was away, it didn't seem to have occurred to anyone in R&D to keep a record of what was going in and out of this room.

She brushed a cobweb from her hair and said tiredly 'What is it, Erica?'

Hermione's secretary looked like she had ants in her pants. 'You have a visitor.'

'Oh.' Hermione grimaced at the state of her hands. 'I thought I didn't have any appointments.'

Erica looked very nervous. 'This guy doesn't need an appointment!'

Hope shone in Hermione's eyes. 'Is it Mr Zabini?'

'Unfortunately, it's just me,' Draco said, stepping through the doorway and nodding pleasantly at Erica. Erica turned beet red and scurried off.

'Oh! Malfoy, hi!' Hermione tried to discreetly check how many spiders had decided to take up residence in her clothes and hair.

'Perhaps we could be on first name terms with each other?' Draco suggested. 'When we're alone, that is.'

'Uh… okay,' Hermione smiled. 'Was there something I can help you with?'

'I need your help, as a matter of fact. If you recall on Friday, you mentioned that the Board should have more women. I would be very interested to hear your suggestions.'

'Really?' Hermione beamed.

'Truly,' Draco smiled. 'My week's kind of full already, so I was wondering if we could talk over lunch?'

'Okay. I think the cafeteria special is seafood chowder today' –

'I meant somewhere off-site. I get a bit tired of staring at the same walls day after day.' He grinned.

Oh that grin… 'Sure, no problem,' stammered Hermione. 'Just give me a few minutes to de-spider myself and I'll be right with you.'

* * *

 **At the swankiest, cosiest French restaurant you can find in Diagon Alley**

Draco leaned back in his plush chair, watching Hermione fondly but keeping an expression of neutral interest on his face. She was engaged in an animated monologue about her suggestions for women who would be suitable for a post on MZ Enterprises' Board, and why. Her recommendations were worthwhile and well thought-out, and it was clear that she had more of an understanding of MZ Enterprises' strategic direction and corporate responsibilities than half the old duffers currently holding a position.

She waved a forkful of cheese soufflé in the air as she emphasised a particular point. 'Also, now that you're going to break into the Muggle market, it would be really useful if the Board had a Muggleborn representative' –

'I couldn't agree more,' Draco replied, polishing off the last of his Trout Meunière Amandine.

'Oh. You do?'

'I do.' Draco topped up her mineral water and refreshed his own. 'We see eye to eye on a number of things, Hermione.' He lowered his voice and kept his eyes steady on hers.

Hermione blushed and fiddled with the cuff of her silk Giambattista Valli ruffled blouse.

'The colour of that shirt is stunning on you.'

She looked up at him, a witty rejoinder on her lips.

Nothing prepared her for the intensity of his silver eyes, looking at her with tempered desire.

Holy cow, she thought. I think I just wet my knickers.

He leaned forward, slowly. 'Hermione. I'm sorry that Blaise isn't available to wine and dine you and treat you the way you should be treated.' He sighed and shook his head. 'He asked me specially to make sure you weren't lonely while he recovers from his accident, but I've got no idea what women like to do. It's been so long…' he trailed off and took a drink of water with a slightly unsteady hand.

Hermione's compassion boxes were all filled to overflowing by Draco's humble speech.

'Maybe you'd be better with someone like Cormac McLaggen,' Draco said morosely.

Cormac McLaggen. Office Lothario and self-crowned 'Merlin's Gift to Witchkind.' Hermione had been running away from him for years.

'Er, no. No, that's not necessary at all, Draco!' She put a comforting hand on his arm. 'I think you're doing a wonderful job. I would love to spend more time with you.' She smiled encouragingly.

Draco looked hopeful. 'Oh. That's very nice of you, Hermione. Thank you.' He smiled slowly.

She matched his smile.

As they were in the Floo, heading back to the office, Draco permitted himself a small smirk when he was certain Hermione couldn't see it.

Stuff that in your cigar and smoke it, Father, he thought.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Sorry for the delay between drinks, folks. My get-up-and-go for the story got up and went. But it came back, thank the pixies.**

 **Trigger warning: discussion of suicide**

 **Also featuring a Draco–related lemon! You've waited long enough!**

* * *

 **Tuesday**

Harry paced back and forth behind his office desk, his lips moving soundlessly. According to the other occupant of his office, a sleepy owl having a rest after delivering a hefty missive from one Harry's clients, he looked a right twit.

Harry stopped mid-pace when a knock sounded, and Hermione's perfect head of hair popped around the door. 'You wanted to see me, Harry?' Hermione asked, her pretty nose screwed up in confusion.

'Yes! Ah, yes, wonderful, thanks for stopping by.' Harry sat behind his desk. Then stood up. Then sat down again.

'Harry, what's gotten into you?' Hermione laughed. 'You remind me of the time just before you asked Arthur's permission to marry Ginny. As if he would have ever said no. Ginny wouldn't have let him.'

Harry decided he'd be better off standing up. ''Mione,' there's something serious I need to talk to you about.'

'Goodness.' Hermione's eyes grew round. 'What is it?'

'Now, please don't get upset,' Harry started.

That sort of sentence never failed to get Hermione's dander up, but she breathed out the irritation and faced Harry seriously. 'I'm ready.'

'BlaizeZabiniisengagedtoPansyParkinson,' he gabbled.

'Huh?'

'Blaise Zabini is engaged to Pansy Parkinson,' he said at a slightly lower rate of knots.

'Oh.'

Harry boggled. 'Is that all?'

She shrugged. 'Yup.'

Harry scratched his head. 'I thought you were in love with him.'

'I am.' Hermione stretched and dangled one slim knee over the other.

'You're not upset?'

'No.' Hermione smiled wickedly. 'After all, he's not married yet.'

Harry collapsed back into his seat. What happened to the sweet, naïve Hermione he used to know? 'Hermione! Do you realise what you're saying?'

Hermione sighed and looked at the ceiling. 'Look. The engagement is probably part of some company merger or similar antiquated wizarding tradition where women are sold off to the highest bidder. If Blaise marries Pansy, he will be trapped in a cold, loveless marriage, and will undoubtedly look elsewhere for love and comfort. And if I can't marry him, his love and comfort will be good enough.'

At the sight of Harry's face, Hermione set her teeth and snapped 'Not everyone is blessed with finding the love of their lives in school and marrying them practically the second after they graduate.'

Harry said nothing, trying not to feel guilty that he was a happily married man.

Hermione's face fell. 'Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I know you're looking out for me. But don't you see? I've changed the way I think about things. No more dreaming of castles in the air. I've learned to make what I want happen, and not stay in the shadows and desperately hope that someone will notice me.'

She reached out her hand over his desk and clasped his. 'I can't help who I fall in love with,' she said sadly. 'Can you imagine loving anyone other than Ginny?'

Harry shook his head, just as sadly.

'You need to let me make my own mistakes from time to time,' she said.

He gripped her hand in both of his. 'I promise I'll try.'

* * *

 **Wednesday**

'So, what's the plan for this evening?' Lucius asked, mumbling around a cigar.

Draco checked his appearance in his bedroom mirror. He wore a pair of faded skinny jeans, a dark blue striped t-shirt, a navy blazer and chromexcel boots. Thank Merlin the jeans still fitted. He couldn't recall the last time he'd worn them. They may not have been skinny back then.

'We're going to the movies,' he announced.

'Moo-vees?' Lucius frowned. 'Is that one of those Muggle contraptions?'

'Yes, Father. In fact, Hermione thinks our company may be interested in investing in this area. It's a glamorous and high-profile industry, apparently.'

'Hmm.' Lucius puffed away. 'If I have to go to a moo-vee dressed the way you are, I think I'll pass.'

Draco smiled at the thought of dear old Lucius strutting around with his cane, wearing skinny jeans.

'Is your seduction plan working?'

Draco shrunk his wand and stored it in an inside pocket. 'Early days, but it's heading in the right direction.'

'Can you make it head to the finish line a little faster? I don't like the tone of the owls that Pansy's delightful father is sending.'

'You can't hurry love.' Draco tapped his father on the nose. 'You'll just have to wait.'

* * *

Hermione was in her living room when Draco stepped through the Floo. She looked lovely and fresh in black capri jeans, a light fitted grey sweater and a denim jacket.

He looked around her room. It was small, by his standards, but cosy. A couple of colourful rugs were spread on the polished timber floors, and three of the walls were surrounded by bookcases positively groaning with books, wizard and Muggle. Two comfortable sofas sat in the middle of the room, one with a tall reading light nearby. A ginormous ginger cat and a lovely cream version were snuggled together on a pile of cushions.

The cream cat opened her eyes and yawned. Mesmerised by their stunning blue colour, Draco found himself wandering over and holding out a hand for her to inspect. She sniffed it delicately, then turned over and showed her tummy. Smiling, Draco patted her.

'She's a maneater,' Hermione laughed, now with her shoes on and handbag located. 'But she's a good influence on Crookshanks, at least.'

Draco looked at the orange blob with claws on the sofa. He slowly held out the hand that he'd patted the cream cat with to him. Crooks sniffed it, and must have been pleased, for he started licking Draco's fingers.

Hermione came over and patted both cats lovingly. 'Now, behave, you two,' she called out, heading to the front door. 'No kitten-making, please.'

* * *

Hermione led Draco out of the movie complex, trying not to giggle. Draco, on his part, looked like he'd been teleported backwards.

'It's quite a lot to take in,' Hermione said, smiling at the dazed look on Draco's face.

'It was incredible. The way everything seemed to be hurtling towards you…'

'Yes, 3D viewing technology has come a long way over the years.' She patted his arm playfully. 'And no-one noticed you yelping.'

Draco stuck his nose up in the air. 'I did not yelp.'

'Or flinching.'

He mock-glared at her. 'You dare accuse me, the great Draco Malfoy, of flinching?'

'Or spilling your popcorn everywhere.'

'Ah, yes.' He looked a teensy bit abashed. 'Don't worry. I think some might still be in my shoes.'

Laughing, Hermione took his hand. 'Come on!' The evening's still young. Want to grab something to eat? Or drink?'

A frizz of electricity shot from Draco's hand to his spine. He hoped he hid his shiver of...

'Lead the way, madam,' he said.

* * *

They sat in a tiny Italian restaurant, where Hermione kissed the cheerful owner on the cheeks and introduced Draco as her friend.

The owner, his enormous moustache doing nothing to hide his knowing grin, welcomed them and showed them to a cosy table. He swiftly brought them a carafe of Dolcetto d'Alba (ignoring Hermione's protestations that it was too special to waste on them) and soon had the little table filled with the restaurant's flat bread sprinkled with sea salt, garlic and rosemary and dashed in olive oil.

'The olive oil comes from his brother's estate,' Hermione said as she pulled some of the bread apart. 'It's almost addicting.'

'It's delicious,' Draco agreed, after trying both the wine and the bread. 'I can't remember the last time I had so much fun on a casual night out.' Then his face shadowed.

Hermione leaned forward, concerned. 'What is it, Draco?'

He took another sip of his wine and sighed. 'Ever since I left school – possibly even before – all I've done is work, work, work, work, work. Too busy to play Quidditch with my mates, even though I loved it. Too busy for relationships, even though I tired. They got tired of playing second fiddle to the company, so I didn't bother anymore.'

He looked at his hands. They used to be calloused from holding Quidditch broomsticks. Now all he had was a cross-hatched smudge where his quill lay against his finger. 'Do you know how many floors up the Executive Floor is?'

Hermione thought. 'Yes. Eighty.' She crinkled her nose. 'Why?'

Draco took a healthy slug of wine. Not a bad drop. He must get the supplier's details from the owner. He leaned back in his chair. 'Once upon a time, there was a young man who worked day in, day out, seven days a week to please his family, his Board, and maybe prove to himself that he was as good as everyone expected him to be. He was wildly successful. And desperately unhappy.'

Hermione's eyes were huge. Her wineglass was suspended in mid-air, forgotten.

'One day, that young man stood on the ledge of his office window for three hours, trying to decide whether or not to jump.'

Tears formed in her eyes.

'Tell me, Hermione,' Draco asked, 'is it possible to blot out memories… for sentimental reasons?'

'Yes,' she whispered. 'People do all sorts of things for sentimental reasons. Look at me. I went to Paris.'

'It worked wonders for you,' Draco smiled.

'I know!' she cried. 'You should go to Paris! Make use of your lovely large flat, relax and unwind. Live life as if it were 'La Vie en Rose.'

'That flat,' Draco said ruefully. 'Miss Jennings bought it on my behalf. Mother uses it more than I do.'

'Now, that won't do,' Hermione said. 'We'll get you to Paris one day, Mr Malfoy.'

They ate and drank in comfortable silence for a while.

'Draco?'

'Yes, Hermione?'

'How did the story end?' she asked in a small voice.

He held her hand, and kissed it. 'He climbed back into his office, and hired a business partner, who has been a godsend for lightening his workload. He has a little bad luck with the ladies,' he grinned, 'but I think he's fallen in love with a woman who is one of a kind.'

Hermione smiled, clashing with the tears in her eyes.

'How is he?' she asked shyly.

'Oh, better,' Draco replied. 'He's gone from being flat on his stomach to being flat on his back.'

'What a silly boy,' she smiled.

'He sure is,' Draco replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

* * *

 **Thursday evening**

Draco pottered around his enormous office, then drifted to the gigantic windows to watch the last of the sun disappear behind the other edifices of Diagon Alley. Hermione would be here soon to help him finalise the proposed changes to ZM Enterprises' Board.

He glanced back at the stack of papers on his desk. He sighed regrettably. An ideal candidate for the new Board would be Hermione herself. Female, Muggle-born, brilliant, keen to see the business succeed…

…beautiful.

He closed his eyes in frustration. No. The plans he had for her did not include sitting on his company's Board.

Gods, he was starving. He missed lunch, and dinner would be long over before he and Hermione would finish their meeting. There must be something in his desk he could snack on. An apple, some crackers maybe…

He scrabbled through his desk drawers when his fingers connected with an opened box of what smelled like… chocolate! What a bonus! He quickly slid his fingers under scraps of notepaper and quills, snagged a chocolate from the box, and popped it into his mouth.

Ohhh…. Heavenly bliss. Wow. Caffeine's in it, too. Just the ticket.

He pushed his chair away from the desk, leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed in contentment.

He almost felt bereft when the last of the chocolate disappeared. I've got to have another, he thought. Wheeling closer to the desk, he pulled the desk drawer out again. This time, he sorted through the junk, setting what he no longer needed on fire with his wand until he re-discovered the chocolate box.

His heart plummeted to his shoes.

It's was Granger's test box of mood chocolates.

He remembered offering one to Miss Jennings when they got out from the Board meeting that day. She'd chosen 'Serenity,' and he barely got an ounce of work out of her for the rest of the day. He had someone Floo her home in the end, so she could cavort naked around her garden in peace.

He'd tossed the box into his desk drawer and promptly forgot about it. With a twinge of guilt, he remembered he was supposed to have sampled the chocolates himself as part of the Board's decision-making process. Oh, well. No time like the present. He pulled the little box toward him.

The space that used to hold 'Serenity' was empty, as expected. The other empty space belonged to:

Ravenclaw's rancid fucking rats.

'Lust.'

He frantically turned the box over, hoping for a clue that could prevent him from feeling the effects of the chocolate. He read:

 _INSTRUCTIONS AND SAFETY:_

 _Consume one chocolate at a time in a safe environment_

 _Effects will be felt within 10 - 15 minutes and will last for approximately one to six hours, depending on metabolism_

 _Do not feel alarmed if you experience emotions that you have not felt before_

 _In cases of accidental ingestion, DO NOT induce vomiting. Go to a safe place and wait for the effects to dissipate._

 _Do not consume more than one chocolate per 12 hours_

Draco swore. Much as he detested making himself throw up, he was perfectly prepared to do it if that meant he could negate the effects of the Lust chocolate. But now it appeared that he can't.

He could cancel the meeting. Yes. He could do that. Sudden illness, terribly sorry, etc. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill.

He got as far as 'Dear Hermione' when the doors to his office opened and Hermione stood framed in the doorway.

'Sorry, I'm early, Draco,' she smiled. 'I finished my work sooner than expected and popped up to see if you were able to start early. Then we could finish early!'

'Ummm…' Draco pulled at his shirt collar. 'Yes, of course.'

'Great!' Hermione stepped through, closed the door, skipped over to his coffee table, and sat on a comfortable leather sofa.

Draco stood up, put on his robes, and inched over reluctantly.

Hermione paused in the middle of laying out her papers. 'You don't have to wear robes around me,' she grinned. 'We know each other enough to dispense with formalities, surely?'

Draco plopped down onto a sofa opposite her. Then changed his mind and sat next to her. 'I have a feeling I might need them later,' he said casually. 'The office can get a little cold, this time of year.'

He imagined her nipples pebbling under her shirt. From the cold… or from his lips…

Oh, Godric. It's started.

He let his robes fall over his crotch and cleared his throat. 'Shall we start?'

'Oh, yes.' Hermione reached for a quill, then she suddenly leapt up.

Draco tore his eyes away from her breasts, softly bouncing from her sudden movement.

'What's wrong?' he croaked, his mouth dry.

'Is it okay if I grab a drink?' Hermione asked. 'I'm really parched for some reason. You sound like you have a frog in your throat, too,' she teased.

'Yeah. Uh. Drink. Good.'

Hermione gave him a funny look, but headed over to his bar. 'Butterbeer okay?' she called.

No, thought Draco gloomily. I need enough Firewhiskey to knock myself unconscious for the next few hours. 'Yes, great, thanks.'

'Two Butterbeers coming up!' Hermione reached up on her tip-toes to locate the Butterbeer mugs, kept in the cupboards over the bar's sink. Her cream above-the-knee skirt rose up her thighs as she stretched.

Draco swallowed. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple.

Having located the glasses, she opened the cupboard below the sink where the drinks were kept. Bending over at the waist, she pushed a couple of bottles aside before she found what she wanted. Her pert bottom wiggled as she moved.

Draco's fingers gripped the sofa for dear life. Gods, gods, gods, he could see it unfolding in his head, as clear as those Muggle movie scenes: clutching her hips hard as he pounded into her relentlessly. Her arms would be braced against the sink, meeting him stroke for stroke, urging him on with words that fell from her mouth in broken pieces as he fucked her towards their orgasm.

It would be dirty, hard and fast. They wouldn't even be undressed. Her skirt would be shoved up over her hips, and Merlin knows where her panties would end up after he got them off her. His fly would be undone and his underwear shoved to the side. He would still be wearing his tie.

Their laboured breathing would fill the office. His head would be spinning from the way she would feel, her cunt around his cock, surrounding his flesh in tight, slick warmth. Delicious.

The tingling feeling in his tightened balls would signal the encroaching end. He would continue to fuck her like there was no tomorrow. His fingers would scrabble for her clitoris, manipulating it while dimly registering her moan of encouragement, feeling her walls of her pussy become even wetter than he thought possible.

'Hermion'- was all he would be able to grit out before her pussy would grip his cock and she would wail in abandoned ecstasy. He would come almost before he was even aware of what he was doing, sinking into utter pleasure. Knowing, before he'd even finished, that having an orgasm with anyone else will feel like spurting desultorily into a cold, muddy puddle when compared to Hermione Granger's beautiful body.

'Draco? Are you sure you're okay?'

Draco blinked, and the woman he had just luridly fantasised about materialised in front of him, holding a Butterbeer and worrying her bottom lip.

He mentally slapped himself silly, and forced himself to smile. 'Nothing that I can't recover from,' he smiled. He accepted the Butterbeer and downed it in one go. 'Ahh. I feel better already.'

'Well, if you're sure,' Hermione said hesitantly. 'I was worried about you.'

Praying that his touch wouldn't send an almighty chain reaction to his aching balls, he covered her hand with this own and squeezed it gently. 'Blaise is such a lucky guy to have someone so compassionate,' he said softly.

Hermione started a little. 'Oh, yes. Blaise.' She swallowed, then smiled. 'Well. Shall we proceed?'

Draco agreed, and proceeded to sit through the most torturously uncomfortable meeting of his life.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: 99 reviews, 212 followers and 66 people who have favourited my story already! Dear readers, you are beautiful, beautiful people. Please enjoy chapter 13... and help me break 100 reviews! xx**

* * *

 **Still Thursday evening**

Around eight o'clock, about the time Draco was near certain that he was going to die from unrequited lustfulness, Hermione put her quill down with satisfaction and declared the meeting to be over. Well, from her perspective, anyway. What did Draco think?

Draco would have happily appointed Hogwarts's Giant Squid to the Board if it meant this meeting could end and he could finally take care of, well, other business.

He declared himself as pleased as punch with the results and pledged to start the next phase of the project, i.e. convincing Blaise and Lucius (the major shareholders, in addition to himself) that the restructured Board was a good idea, and not the end of the Wizarding world as they knew it. Lucius tended to get a little melodramatic when faced with change.

'Great!' Hermione stood up and stretched. Draco's eyes were glued to the outline of her breasts as they pushed against her delicate blouse.

Sweet baby dragons, he whimpered privately.

He also rose and took his papers to his desk.

'Well, I'll see you later, then.' Hermione headed to the door.

'Sure will!' Draco replied mock cheerfully, pretending to organise his papers.

'Oh!' Hermione had made it to the office door but to Draco's desperation, hadn't made it through. 'I almost forgot. On Sunday mornings, Harry, Ginny, Ron, the twins and I go to The Burrow for breakfast, then the others play Quidditch. They've been complaining that they're always a person short to play three-on-three.' Her voice faltered. 'I was wondering if you'd like to come with me? This Sunday? To play?'

Draco swallowed hard, then turned around. She was fiddling with the doorknob like she was trying to figure out how it worked. Her cheeks looked a little pink.

'I – I haven't been on a broom in years,' he breathed.

She looked up, and he was struck, once more, by her beautiful face. That had apparently been hiding under a frizzy cloud of hair for years. 'You were one of the best fliers in our year.' She smiled bravely. 'I'm sure it will come back to you.'

Draco breathed in and out slowly. 'Yeah. All right then. Thank you.'

Her eyes lit up. 'Fantastic! I'll, um, see you later!'

He smiled back. 'See you later.'

She disappeared behind the door.

Draco counted to ten. Reasonably certain she wouldn't pop back in with another question or comment, he made an undignified dash (by Malfoy standards) to his private bathroom.

He tore his trousers open, half expecting his erection to have swelled to triple its normal size, since that was certainly how it bloody well felt. He wasted a precious second thanking Merlin that he wasn't deformed, gripped his erection with a shaking hand and prayed for mercy.

Three strokes, and he came with such intensity that his knees buckled and his vision swam out of focus. A pent-up, extremely frustrated shout of release burst from his throat, despite his best efforts to clamp it down.

Sometime later, he found himself on the floor, propped up against the bathroom wall with no recollection of how he got there. His heart was hammering furiously, and the air he was trying to force into his lungs just wasn't enough.

He mustered up enough concentration to cast a _scourgify_ , rested his elbows on his knees and propped his head on his hands. Was that intense, almost to-the-point-of-painful orgasm the result of the Lust chocolate, or a manifestation of his lust for Hermione?

When did he start lusting after Hermione?

Nah. He couldn't be lusting after her.

He can't lust after her.

It had to be the chocolate. She just happened to be there when he was feeling the effects.

Yeah.

That had to be why he shouted out her name.

Merlin, that chocolate's strong. It's not safe. What if an older bloke took it? Hell, their heart would probably explode. Half the Board might obliterate themselves. I must tell Hermione to tone it down.

He pulled himself up and rinsed his face and hands at the basin. He stared at himself in the mirror, watching the drops of water trail down his face.

His eyes widened.

Had Lucius tried the Lust chocolate yet?

Oh, bloody hell!

He dried his face and apparated to the Manor.

* * *

Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor with a 'pop' and landed rather unsteadily on his feet. 'Father?' he shouted.

No response.

He decided to head for Lucius's study. Careening down the halls, he wrenched the study door open and barrelled in – to find the room empty.

'Is everything all right, darling?'

Yelping, Draco whirled around with his hand on his heart. 'Mother! You scared me.'

Narcissa raised a delicate eyebrow. 'You're acting most unlike yourself, my dear,' she commented. 'Why are you so desperate to find your father?'

'Well, he, er, has been given a product that may be quite harmful to his health. I wanted to make sure he hasn't… made use of it.' Draco's cheeks were pink. No way was he telling his mother that Lucius had an erectile enhancement product that might cause his heart to explode while he chased her around the Manor in lustful derangement.

Narcissa looked sceptical. 'It's a bit late, don't you think?'

Draco's cheeks went from pink to white. 'Oh, Merlin, has he' –

'Well, of course he has! For years and years! He's still doing it now, and thinks I have no idea!'

Ohh. Gotcha. 'The cigars?'

'Yes! Those detestable cigars,' she said crossly. 'They're bad for his lungs! But he doesn't care! He'll smoke himself into an early grave, you see if he won't!' Narcissa bit her lip, and a tear glistened on her porcelain cheek.

'Oh, Mother.' Draco's heart broke for her. He crossed the room and gathered her into his embrace. Narcissa laid her head against her son's strong chest and hugged him.

'I'll talk to him. Try and make him see what an idiot he's being,' he said.

Narcissa sniffed delicately. 'It will probably take more than that, but thank you for the offer.'

Draco kissed the top of her head. 'I hate to go, but I need to see Father urgently.'

She sighed. 'He's in the conservatory. Pretending not to smoke.'

'Thanks, Mother.' Draco took off to the conservatory wing.

* * *

'Father! Thank Salazar I found you.' Draco was puffing by the time he ran into the conservatory. Huh. Getting back on a broom might not be a bad idea, after all.

Almost hidden amongst the luscious hot-house ferns and flowers, Lucius looked up from the Venus fly trap he was cooing to and tapped some cigar ash into a nearby ashtray. 'Hm? What's up, son?'

'Have you eaten the Lust chocolate sample that Miss Granger gave you?' Draco asked, heart in his mouth.

Lucius stuck the cigar back in his mouth. 'Yes. After the dance last Friday.' He looked at Draco suspiciously. 'Why?'

Draco collapsed onto a bamboo lounger. 'How – how did you feel after taking it?'

Lucius raised an eyebrow and smiled. 'How do you think I felt, boy?'

Draco belatedly realised where this conversation had to go. Oh, dear Gods.

Lucius sat gracefully in the opposite lounger, with a grin playing on his lips. 'I take it you've tried it, too?' he asked.

'Yes! I was horrified!'

'Horrified?' Lucius was not expecting that response. 'Slytherin's socks, boy, have you forgotten what it's like to have' –

'No! No, Father, no,' Draco said wearily.

'Well, then? What's got your wand in a knot?'

Draco was perplexed. How could his father be so blasé about the obviously dangerous effects of the Lust chocolate? He barely even knew where to start. 'The entire experience was dangerously intense!' he said defensively. 'I was – it was – I had a rock-hard erection for nearly three hours solid, excuse the pun, and the fantasies that plagued me during that time felt almost _real._ When I was finally able to, um, do something about it, I practically had an out-of-body experience!' Draco stared at Lucius. 'Don't tell me that didn't happen to you.'

For once, Lucius's cigar was resting limply in his hand, forgotten. He stared at Draco. 'Of course not.'

Draco ran his hands agitatedly through his hair. 'What? What do you mean?'

'Well, I got an erection after fifteen or so minutes. I wandered through the Manor and when I saw Narcissa, I felt this strong desire to be with her, and only her. I strode right up to her and kissed her with a passion that I hadn't felt in years. She was surprised, but she responded, quite eagerly, and we ended up making love right there and then. In front of the house-elves.'

Trying not to gag, Draco nevertheless didn't miss the faraway expression in his father's eyes as he recalled the incident. 'In front of the house-elves – where exactly were you and Mother?' he asked incredulously.

Lucius smiled slowly. 'The Music Room. On top of the grand piano, to be precise. And I'm pretty sure the house-elves had disappeared by the time I pulled your mother's bodice down and exposed her' –

'No more, I beg you!' Draco pleaded.

Lucius sniffed. 'Your mother and I are not in our dotage, you know,' he said a little huffily. 'Neither of us are yet fifty. For married couples, having sex is an acceptable activity.'

Great. Now Draco felt (a little) guilty. Far be it for a Malfoy to apologise, he nonetheless said, as conciliatory as he could, 'I accept that, Father. It's wonderful to see how much you and Mother love each other, when so many other marriages aren't as successful. But I don't need to hear the intimate details. I'm your son, after all. Did Grandfather have these sorts of conversations with you?'

Lucius snorted. 'I'd be surprised if the old codger mounted Grandmother more than once to conceive me.'

Draco thought so, too. A more uptight, prudish bastard he'd never met.

Time to hustle this conversation along. 'So you didn't feel an almost obsessive need to, um… get off? You didn't feel like your heart was going to explode at the end?'

'No,' Lucius said simply. 'It was a very pleasurable, wonderful experience. Much like it was when Narcissa and I first became intimate.'

'Well, that's bloody weird,' sighed Draco.

They thought in silence.

'Son,' Lucius said thoughtfully, 'you said you had a three-hour erection until you were 'finally' able to deal with it. Why couldn't you deal with at the onset?'

'I had a meeting shortly after I ate it,' Draco mumbled. Lucius gave him a look. 'I ate it by accident, okay?'

Lucius kept his smile to himself. 'Who was the meeting with?'

Draco squirmed. The bamboo lounger wasn't that comfy. 'Miss Granger.'

Lucius's smile burst through. 'You had a three-hour meeting with Miss Granger, yes? And the fantasies that you experienced – who were they about?'

'Miss Granger,' Draco muttered.

'Did you fantasise about anyone else?'

Draco shook his head.

'Interesting.' Lucius leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together.

Draco sighed. 'All right, I'll bite. What's interesting?'

'I have a theory,' Lucius began. 'I think the effects of the chocolate were more intense for you because you couldn't relieve yourself of your erection shortly after consuming it, as I did. By the time you spent three hours in the company of a very beautiful and sexy woman – don't give me that look, it would be obvious even to a blind man - it would make perfect sense that your fantasies were about her. The intensity of your, well, release, is standard delayed gratification: the longer you delay your orgasm, the more intense it becomes.'

Draco thought. 'Maybe,' he said non-committally.

'Of course, I'm not an expert,' Lucius said grandly. 'You would be better off consulting with Miss Granger herself.'

'Ha ha,' Draco said sarcastically.

Lucius shrugged. 'Or Severus.'

Talking to Snape about erections and ejaculations was more palatable than talking to Hermione about them, but only by the slimmest of margins.

'Or, maybe your reactions had nothing to do with the chocolate, and everything to do with how you really feel about her,' Lucius finished quietly, silver eyes on his son.

Draco's eyes, so much like his father's, met Lucius's.

'I'm going to bed,' Draco said eventually. 'Good night, Father.'

'Good night, son.'

Lucius watched Draco heave himself up from the lounger and slowly walk away.

* * *

 **Friday morning**

Draco slept like shit. He forced himself to crawl out of bed at his appointed time (the crack of dawn) and promptly fell asleep in the shower. Jerking himself awake, he cast a wandless s _ilencio_ around his luxurious bathroom, wrenched the shower's faucet to 'cold' and hollered as icy needles of water pierced his body.

No pain, no gain, he sighed. At least the water had frozen his libido into inaction.

In the dining room, he sculled cup after cup of coffee until Narcissa, also an early riser, yanked the cup out of his hands. 'Draco, you've just inhaled five cups of coffee!'

'Hmm?' Draco, reading the financial sections of the early edition foreign newspapers, looked up vaguely. 'Thanks, Mother, I'll have another cup, please.'

She crossed her arms and glared at him. 'You bloody well will not.'

Wow. Mother never swore. Draco's head snapped up. 'I'm sorry, Mother.' He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. 'Just a bit tired.'

She looked at her son. Her only child, she loved him like crazy and thanked the gods every day that he'd become the kind and beautiful man she always hoped he'd be. He was working himself to the bone at that damned company. It had fused itself into him. If it was taken away, she was scared there'd be nothing left of Draco but a shell of himself. A paper doll.

Not for the first time, coldness gripped her heart. Her husband was smoking himself to death, and her son was working himself to death.

Sometimes she wanted to scream until she had no breath left.

She knew it wasn't the right time, and that she'd get nowhere again, but she put a tentative hand on her son's shoulder. 'You can't keep working this hard,' she whispered.

He froze.

Narcissa made to move her hand away, but to her surprise, Draco clasped it in his.

'I know,' he muttered.

She couldn't believe her ears. 'Oh!' she croaked, and to her shame, she started to cry.

'Mother!' Draco was out of his chair in an instant, hugging her tight. 'Please don't cry, Mummy.'

He hadn't called her Mummy since the day he left for Hogwarts as a First Year. That only made her cry harder. Because it made her so much happier.

* * *

 **9:00am Friday morning**

 **At MZ Enterprises**

Tucked away in her office, Hermione sent Erica away with a list of things to do, including sending a bunch of owls to Harry, Ron, the twins and Molly. Best let them know she was bringing Draco and his broom around on Sunday.

She ignored the funny thump her heart made when she he entered her thoughts.

Like a bad penny, Erica showed at her door again. She was shaking with fear.

'Good grief, Erica, what on earth's the matter?' Hermione cried, reaching for her wand.

'V-v-v-visitor,' Erica stammered.

'Who?' Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

'Mr – Mr – Mal' –

'Oh, get out of the way, girl,' an aristocratic voice commanded wearily. Erica eeked and skedaddled, and Hermione watched Lucius Malfoy sweep into her office like he owned the place.

Which, of course, he partly did.

'Miss Granger,' he greeted regally.

Hermione bolted out of her chair and extended her hand. 'Mr Malfoy,' she said, remembering to smile.

He kissed the top of her hand and regarded her through lidded eyes. He sank gracefully into one of her uncomfortable guest chairs and politely declined her offer of tea. 'Miss Granger, I am here to give you some feedback on your product. And to ask a favour.'

Hermione beamed. 'Lovely.' She sat down at her desk, poised with her quill.

'All of the chocolates were delicious, and acted as expected,' he began.

Hermione dutifully scribbled it down.

'However, I have some… reservations… about the Lust chocolate.'

'Oh!' Hermione looked up expectantly. 'Please elucidate, Mr Malfoy.'

A corner of Lucius's mouth quirked. 'Willingly, my dear, but I must warn you that I will be passing on some highly confidential and, shall we say, _personal_ information. Naturally I don't want this conversation leaving this room, except in the barest of terms for your reporting.'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy,' Hermione replied seriously. 'You have my word.'

Oh, she was just delicious, Malfoy smirked to himself. He leaned forward and lowered his voice to the level he used on Narcissa that had her dropping her robes in the Music Room last Friday. 'To be blunt, Miss Granger, I am going to talk about my sex life. I understand if you would prefer a male colleague to take my feedback instead.'

All of a sudden, the room was too hot. Hermione gulped, unable to tear herself away from Lucius's mesmerising eyes and smoking hot voice. Gods, it was only just after nine in the morning and she's already squirming uncomfortably in wet panties. Are the Malfoy men highly skilled in sex magic, or something?

 _Is_ there such a thing as sex magic?

She made a mental note to look into it.

She blinked, internally shaking her head in order to replace the inappropriate thoughts of Mr Malfoy senior with... come on, anything will do – ah! Here we go.

Draco Malfoy.

Oh, wonderful. That made all the difference.

Realising she'd been staring at Mr Malfoy for more time than what was considered polite, she put on her professional smile and rested her hands comfortably on her desk. 'I will be the soul of professional discretion, sir,' she said confidently.

Lucius smiled slowly, and Hermione suddenly had a good idea of how it felt to be a chicken, staring at the fox that had broken into the henhouse. 'Then we'll begin.'


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: You guys! You blow me away with your support!**

 **Here's a bit more 'sexy Lucius,' and has Hermione finally turned a corner? Read on!**

* * *

 **Friday morning**

Draco approached Hermione's office just as her door opened and his father, of all people, strolled out, looking like the cat who had cornered the market on cream. He nodded pleasantly to Hermione's secretary, who turned pale and dropped her files on the floor; then he caught sight of his son.

'Ah! Draco.' Lucius's pleased smirk grew even bigger.

Draco eyeballed his father suspiciously. 'What were you doing in Miss Granger's office?'

Lucius gazed around Hermione's department. Dozens of people who were milling around, earwigging, suddenly had other places to go to. Nonetheless, he cast a subtle _silencio_ around himself and Draco and said 'I've been executing my duties as a Board member, and gave Miss Granger my feedback on her product.'

Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but Hermione's staff would see it. 'I hope you were discreet.'

'As discreet as I could be,' Lucius said honestly. 'She also did me a favour.' He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Unbidden, the thought of Hermione on her knees and undoing his father's trousers flew into his head.

What the holy hell?

Lucius hadn't noticed Draco's internal wrestle with Things That Must Never Be Thought Of. 'I asked for another sample of the Lust chocolate. To give to Narcissa.'

Draco's mouth fell open.

Lucius leaned in, grinning. 'She gave me two.'

Laughing at the expression on his son's face, he ended the _silencio_ and strode cheerfully out of Research and Development.

Draco prayed that his parents would keep their amorous antics confined to their Manor wing this time, and knocked on Hermione's door.

'Who is it?' a voice quavered.

'It's Draco Malfoy.'

Was that a muffled wail he heard behind the door?

He knocked again. 'Miss Granger? Are you all right?'

After a little delay, Hermione opened the door. Her eyes looked suspiciously bright, and her cheeks were flushed. 'Mr Malfoy, hi,' she smiled with slightly trembling lips. 'Please come in.'

He entered, closed the door and turned around to find that Hermione was mirroring his actions from yesterday: to whit, she was at her desk with her back to him, playing with pieces of paper.

'Hermione?' he asked, his voice low. 'Are you okay? Did my father' –

'Oh, Gods!' she cried, and her shoulders started to shake.

Draco cast a _silencio_ around the office and locked the door. Striding up to her, he put his hands on her shoulders and said urgently 'Hermione, what did he do to you?'

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Horrified, Draco spun her around and held her tight. He was getting lots of practice in comforting crying women lately.

He didn't say a word, just wrapped an arm around her back, threaded his hand through her hair and rested his chin lightly on her head. She was the perfect height for chin-resting.

He was entertaining himself by imagining his father being slowly roasted over an open fire when he became suspicious of Hermione's hiccup-y sobs. He released her and studied her tear-stained face. 'Hang on. Are you laughing?'

'I don't know!' she wailed, and threw herself into his arms again. 'I think I'm doing both,' she said, her voice muffled by Draco's chest. 'It's a very odd sensation.'

'I can imagine,' he replied. 'What did the old bastard say, anyway?'

Hermione took a deep breath, and dried her eyes with the assistance of Draco's freshly-laundered handkerchief (again). 'He described, in detail, what he and your mother did after he ate the Lust chocolate.'

'Shit.'

'And then he compared and contrasted his experience post-chocolate with the most previous sexual encounter he had with his wife pre-chocolate' –

'Gods' –

-'and then he did the same with their sexual encounters when they first became lovers. Or at least, all he could recall. Apparently the occasions were too numerous to remember.'

Words failed him.

'To be fair, he did warn me. And the information was useful.'

Draco shook his head in disbelief. 'You are much too kind.'

Hermione leaned against the desk, and tossed her hair out of her eyes. She looked beseechingly at him and implored 'Draco, you have to do something for me.'

Merlin, those eyes. They're mesmerising. She's learned that trick off that bloody cream cat. 'Anything,' he breathed.

She clutched her head. 'Obliviate me!'

* * *

 **Friday evening**

Draco inspected his old broom. It was top of the line when last used it, but he could well imagine that its design had long since been superseded. He'd probably humiliate himself on Sunday, flying this old clanger while the others, Mrs Potter especially, had the latest and greatest.

He smiled when he realised he didn't care about that shit anymore.

But he did care about falling off his broom and landing flat on his face. He was rather fond of it. Now seemed like the perfect time to go out and practice, on this rare night off from networking. Especially as he had no idea where Mother and Father had ensconced themselves, and he didn't want to stumble upon them accidentally. Thank Merlin the house-elves seemed none the worse off from their eye-popping experience.

He walked through the gardens, heading towards the Manor's half-Quidditch pitch. He thought back to the remainder of his time in Hermione's office.

 _He refused to obliviate her, obviously. She pouted for a bit (which he found quite cute) but soon saw reason. Draco had almost forgotten why he visited her office in the first place. Unfortunately, it was to give her bad news._

' _On hold?!' Hermione shrieked, nanoseconds after the words 'I'm afraid approval for the mood chocolate product is on hold' left his lips. 'What the hell for?'_

' _Because Blaise is still on sick leave, and hasn't had the opportunity to review the presentation notes or sample the product.'_

' _Oh.' Hermione sat down at her desk, deflated. 'Well. That makes sense.'_

' _Also, I have to talk to you about an experience I had with one of the chocolates.' Damn! Draco wished he could glue his mouth shut._

' _Et tu, Malfoy?' Hermione smiled sardonically, but grabbed a fresh parchment. 'I'm all ears.'_

' _Um, I'm booked solid today,' Draco lied smoothly, adjusting his tie. I'll get Miss Jennings to book a time next week with your, er' –_

' _Erica,' Hermione supplied._

' _Okay, great. Um, so, do you want me to meet you at your place on Sunday morning?'_

' _Huh?' she looked up. Then her face cleared. 'Oh, yes! Eight o'clock okay?'_

' _Perfect! See you then!'_

Draco reached the pitch. He looked up at the sky, morphing from sunset to twilight. His favourite time of day. He didn't get to see it often.

He took a deep breath in, and let it go. He mounted the broom, and with a simple command, rose into the air.

* * *

Lucius stood, nude, at the master suite's balcony door, watching his son fly in graceful circles above the grounds. For the first time since Merlin knew when, he didn't crave a cigar.

Movement by the bed caught his eye. A corner of his mouth lifted. His beautiful wife drifted towards him, wrapped in a bedsheet and sporting unusually dishevelled hair. She joined Lucius at the balcony door, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding her face up for his slow, gentle kiss.

'You used to get so worried when he went up on a broom,' he murmured.

'I still get worried. This is his first time on a broom in, what? Five years?'

'He'll be fi' –

They both flinched as Draco leaned too far into a sharp turn and ended up underneath the broom. Fortunately, his arms and legs were still wrapped around it, and he righted himself easily.

'I often wonder which one of you will be the first to give me a heart attack,' Narcissa mused.

'Me?' Lucius looked the picture of innocence. 'What do I do?'

She ran a hand through his long, silver-blonde hair, then grabbed a handful and yanked down hard, so that his face descended to her level. 'Stop smoking those stupid cigars!'

Wincing, Lucius looked like he was going to deny everything, but he sighed instead. 'I want to. But I don't know if I can.'

A weight lifted off Narcissa's chest, and she let go of his hair. 'We'll figure something out,' she promised.

He wrapped his arms around her, and held her close. They watched Draco acting the goat on his broom, or so it seemed, for a few minutes.

'Do you think you have enough material to provide feedback to Miss Granger on her product?' Lucius asked.

Narcissa looked coyly at him, then turned and walked back to their large, rumpled bed. Her bedsheet fell to the floor with her first step.

Lucius drank in the sight of his naked wife, fisting his erection.

She sat on the bed, gathering her hair into a messy knot. 'Surely it would be unwise just to rely on one experience,' she murmured. 'What if it wasn't representative?'

Lucius grinned. 'My thoughts exactly, Mrs Malfoy.'

* * *

 **Later Friday evening**

Hermione sank into her scented bath with an almighty sigh. She held her wine glass (brimming with Pinot Noir) and book out of reach of the cats, who, because they were cats and their logic cannot be questioned, jumped onto the edge of the bath and paraded back and forth along it, stopping on occasion to inspect a bath bubble and wonder why their witch felt the need to submerge most of herself in a large vat of hideous, horrible, funny-smelling water.

The eventually crouched on either side of the bath corners like Sphinxes, and watched her through closed eyes. Because they can do that.

Privacy is not a word that exists in the feline lexicon.

Hermione tried her best, but she couldn't concentrate on her book. Her mind kept rubber-banding back to her meeting with Lucius Malfoy that morning. She swore that bastard enjoyed every single second. The more she blushed, the more his eyes sparked. His voice reminded her of melted chocolate.

She levitated her book to safety, and closed her eyes.

Blaise.

Géraud.

Draco.

Lucius.

Who else was she going to have inappropriate thoughts about?

If it's Cormac McLaggen, she'll _avada_ herself.

She sank down into the water, submerging herself and giving the cats cause for concern.

Rising back up, she acknowledged she couldn't hold it back anymore. She felt guilty as hell, but she'd not get any rest unless she did it. He hadn't been far from her thoughts all day.

With her eyes still closed, her hand drifted past her breasts, her navel, through her trimmed curls. The water shifted as she opened her legs and she made contact with her core.

She was wet. Well, obviously, since she was in a bath. But the slickness between her legs left her in no doubt as to the state of her arousal. She flicked her finger over her clitoris. The touch was electric.

She let her mind wander wherever it wanted. She wasn't the least bit surprised when it culminated in an image of Lucius, lounging in her office chair – next to her bath. He was in casual business attire – trousers and a ridiculously expensive business shirt, tailored to fit his body to perfection. No tie. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The top buttons of his shirt were undone.

His silver-blonde hair was untied. He propped his head on one hand, and his silver eyes glinted as he took stock of her, lying naked in her bath before him. The mocking half-smile she knew so well was present, but now it meant something different.

He spoke in the voice he used in her office this morning. It felt like honey on her tongue.

'I can't see a thing with these damned bubbles, my dear,' he drawled. His wand appeared out of nowhere, and in the blink of an eye, the water became crystal clear. Heat rose from the still water, flushing her face. She looked away, trying to stay in control.

'Oh no, my dear, we can't have that.' She heard his smile in his words. 'Eyes on me. Always.'

She swallowed, and turned her head to face him. She wet her lips with her tongue.

'Very good,' he said. Then: 'Your beauty is breathtaking, you know. Even before that rat-bag Géraud got his hands on you. It was there for everyone to see, if they cared to look a little harder.'

'You know about Géraud?' she asked, surprised.

He smiled, genuinely, this time. 'That he styled you? Or that he bedded you?'

Hermione stared at him, aghast.

He laughed, but not unkindly. 'No, my dear, I guessed. I know his style well. He styles my wife. And I guessed that he would have had trouble resisting you. You should be proud, my dear. It isn't often that he takes a woman to bed. He is very discerning.'

Hermione had no idea what to think.

'Enough about him,' Lucius commanded. 'I'm here for another reason entirely.'

'What's that?' she whispered.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between them. His silver eyes glittered. 'To make you come.'

'W-what do I do?'

'Every single thing I tell you.'

Hermione screwed her eyes shut. 'Is this real? Have you used some form of augmented Legilimency and planted this fantasy in my head for you to control?'

Lucius laughed. 'I'm honoured that you think I have the ability to perform such complicated magic, should it even exist. No, my dear. I'm here courtesy of your imagination only.'

She opened an eye. 'Promise?'

'On my son's life.'

She took a deep breath, slowly opened the other eye, and regarded him steadily. 'Tell me what to do,' she whispered.

He smirked, and shifted back in his seat. She didn't miss the hand he ran over his crotch. Or the beat of his pulse at his collar.

'What about you?' she asked.

'This is not about me.'

She lounged in the water, waiting for him to make his first strike.

He ran his eyes slowly over every part of her body. Nothing missed his experienced gaze. 'You have a beautiful mouth, my dear,' he said thoughtfully. 'I can picture you eating strawberries, plump and warm in the summer sun. When you bite into one, sticky red juice runs over your lips and trickles down your chin. It splashes, drop by drop, onto your breasts.'

Wow. He was _good._

She brought two fingers to her lips and gently pressed on the bottom one, displaying its plump fullness. 'These?' she whispered.

He nodded tersely. 'Put those fingers in your mouth.'

She slid her tongue around her fingers, and slowly pulled them into her mouth. Her eyes steady on his, she sucked them, hollowing her cheeks before slowly withdrawing them. Wet.

His nostrils flared. That was the only move he made. 'Do it again.'

She repeated the move, slowly. This time she closed her eyes, and a muffled moan left her throat.

'Eyes on me.' Three words, gritted out between clenched teeth.

Sleepily, she opened them Sorry, sir,' she breathed.

Now it was his turn to close his eyes.

When he opened them, he was in control again. 'You play a dangerous game, young lady,' he remarked.

'I have no idea what you mean.'

His smirk was back. 'Insolence should be punished.'

Her lips formed the words 'Punish me.'

Lucius swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Hermione now realised how much turning a man on could affect her, too. She could feel her clitoris throbbing, begging for her touch.

He cleared his throat, and his smirk vanished. 'Sit up,' he commanded. 'I want to see your breasts clear of the water.'

The water rippled and swirled around her as she obeyed. It streamed off her breasts until droplets remained. Her nipples hardened in the cool air. Her chest rose and fell erratically.

Lucius looked his fill, sweeping over her full breasts and pink nipples. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

She saw, and let a brief smirk of her own bloom.

His eyes snapped to hers, and they stared silently at each other.

'What do you want me to do, sir?' Hermione whispered.

'Touch your nipples.'

Slowly she moved her hands to her breasts. She lightly ran the pads of her middle fingers over them. They puckered even more from her touch. Then she took the thumb and forefinger of each hand and placed them each side of her nipples. She brought them together and lightly stroked up. She returned to the beginning, and pinched each one tight.

Electricity shot from her breasts to her clitoris. She gasped in painful pleasure, and her back arched. The bath became a sea of choppy waves.

She didn't need him to tell her to repeat it. He was transfixed, leaning back in the chair, cupping his erection. With each hardened pinch, she watched his Adam's apple move. His pupils dilated, darkening his eyes.

Even though he didn't tell her to, she palmed her breasts, kneading them while stimulating her nipples. The urge to touch her clitoris was approaching an unbearable level. She was terribly afraid she would have to beg him before too long.

He sat there, gloating, the bastard. He knew she was approaching the end of her tether. But she also took satisfaction in his obvious arousal.

'Where was I?' he thought out loud. 'Ah, yes. The strawberries. Plump and sweet, and ripe. Their juice had splashed onto your beautiful breasts.'

Her breathing had stuttered. She hung on his every word, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

'You're making a mess,' he whispered, silver eyes glinting. 'If I were real, I would have to run my mouth and tongue over each breast, savouring every drop of juice.' He shifted in the chair again. 'Would you let me, Hermione?'

Gods yes, yes, yes, yes.

'Your nipples are a beautiful pink colour,' he mused. 'Almost like berries themselves. Tell me, my dear, what do you think they would taste like?'

She couldn't think. Her clit was begging, begging for her touch and he was driving her insane with lust.

'I suppose I would have to discover for myself.' He ran a hand – was it shaking, slightly? - through his hair.

She couldn't help it. She closed her eyes. She could feel his warm breath over her nipples, then his tongue as he circled each bud. Her mouth opened on a soundless wail as sucked on one, then the other. Then he tugged at them with his teeth.

She broke. 'Please, please, I have to come, please, let me come,' she begged in a broken voice.

'Look at me.'

She forced her eyes open. Tears of white-hot need pooled in her eyes, then trickled down her cheeks.

A muscle moved in his clenched jaw. 'Touch your clitoris.'

Nearly sobbing with relief, she sliced through the water and palmed her clit. With her first stroke, she shrieked and her back arched so much that her nipples were only a breath away from Lucius's mouth. His breathing was ragged.

She rubbed her clitoris hard, almost viciously, feeling her orgasm approach. Desperately she looked at Lucius, waiting for his permission.

'I'm so close,' she gritted. 'Please, sir.'

He leaned forward, pinning her with his stare. He was struggling to control his breathing. 'Hermione,' he whispered.

'Oh Gods, please…'

'Do this last thing for me.'

'Anything!'

'Say my name when you come.'

'W-what?'

'Say my name! Now!'

Her orgasm slammed into her body, setting every molecule in her body alight.

'Draco!' she screamed.

* * *

She was cold. There was more water on the floor than in the bath. The cats had disappeared, motivated both by her scream of release, and the waves she kicked up when her body spasmed over and over.

She sat up shakily, and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Draco…

She leant back. Her fingers snaked towards her clitoris one more.

* * *

 **'Draco,' eh?... Stay tuned!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks everyone for persevering with my story! Some of the reviews I've received recently have been really amazing. The sort of thing that one prints out and puts up on a wall to read when one is stuck for inspiration. Thanks also to the guest reviewers; sorry I can't respond privately :)**

 **This is just a short chapter - lemon alert!**

* * *

 **Saturday**

Blaise leaned over his study desk, biting his lip in concentration. He wasn't quite able to sit at his desk just yet. But that did not deter him from working on something he had been trying to accomplish all week: writing a love poem for Hermione.

The poor girl, he thought, shaking his head. She must be bored to tears with Draco.

 _Hermione_

 _You are lovely_

 _Your hair is the colour of honey_

 _I want to give you all my money_

Argh! Blaise screwed up the parchment and pulled his hair. How come writing poetry is so damn hard?

* * *

In Blaise's kitchen, Pilch the house-elf jumped up and down and flapped his ears with excitement. 'Jankers! Morby! Pilch has a new poem! Please to listen!'

Jankers sighed, but kind-hearted Morby put his scrubbing brush down and gave Pilch his full attention.

Pilch cleared his throat. 'Ahem!'

 _Roses is red_

 _Violets is blue_

 _Is Miss Hermione_

 _Master Blaise's Waterloo?_

Morby clapped enthusiastically, and Pilch bowed so low his nose touched the ground.

'If you is done, make Master's bed,' ordered Jankers.

Morby looked at Jankers reproachfully as Pilch slouched out of the kitchen. 'Was a good poem,' he insisted.

Jankers glared. 'He not to be encouraged.'

* * *

Blaise was drafting yet another poem when the sound of the Floo heralded a visitor. 'Hello, darling! Just me!' High-heeled footsteps clicked towards the study.

Shit! Blaise grabbed his wand and incendio'd the parchment he was holding. 'Ow!' Blaise forgot to let go, and the flames nibbled his fingertips.

'There you are, darling!' Pansy swept into the study wearing a plum wrap dress, black high-heeled pumps, and her hair swept into a low bun. 'Oh! Why are you sucking your fingers?'

Blaise, pouting, said 'I burnt them by accident.'

'You poor thing,' she cooed, kissing his cheek. 'Would you like me to heal them for you?'

'Oh, no, thank you, er, darling…. just a minor scorch, really. Please, won't you sit down?'

He escorted her to a chaise lounge, while he leaned against a nearby bookcase. Pansy settled gracefully onto the lounge and smiled at her fiancé sympathetically. 'Still not ready for seats yet?'

'No,' Blaise sighed. 'Gods, I miss sitting down.'

Jankers appeared with a 'pop' before Blaise. 'Does Master require refweshments?' he asked.

'Er, yeah. Two coffees, please,' Blaise said.

Jankers bowed low and popped off.

Reappearing in the kitchen, he was busy setting out the china and making the coffee when his sensitive ears were rent by an almighty shriek from the master bedroom.

'What is he done now?' Jankers wailed. 'Morby, please to finish coffee!' He disappeared off down the hallway, wringing his hands in anticipation of the destruction poor Pilch had probably wrought.

Morby carefully poured the coffee into two delicate cups. He laid a silver teaspoon on each saucer, then had a little think. He'd spotted something in the pantry that looked interesting…

…Aha! There was a little box of delicious-looking chocolates that had been casually tossed onto one of the shelves. He drew it forward with his long fingers and prised up the lid. Oh, boo. Only one left.

Morby thought hard, and was rewarded by a bolt of inspiration that nearly swept him off his feet. He waggled his fingers, and one chocolate became two chocolates. He carefully deposited one on each of the saucers, and apparated off to the study.

'Your coffee, sir, miss,' Morby announced, holding up the cups and saucers while bowing low.

'Thanks Morby,' said Blaise, taking both and handing one to Pansy.

Pansy thanked Blaise and took a sip. Ah, lovely. His house-elves always brew a good cuppa. Oh! What's this? Pansy popped the chocolate into her mouth, and nearly died of pleasure. Dear Merlin, that has to be the most sinful chocolate she's ever eaten. She leant back against the chaise longue and moaned in bliss.

This caught Blaise's attention. He, too, was savouring the decadent chocolate that was previously sitting innocently on his saucer. He looked over at Pansy to see what the hell she was squawking about when his eyes were transfixed by her breasts. The wrap dress crossed over low at her chest, and he could plainly see that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples jutted through the soft material, and her head was thrown back in abandon.

Merlin, Pansy had a fit body. Why hadn't he noticed before? Look at that dress, riding up on her thighs. Fuck the dress, look at her thighs! And her mouth. Full, pouty lips. Tongue running over them. Biting them.

Gods, he was hard. Like stone. He was wearing too many clothes. It was like an oven in here. He had no idea how it happened, but suddenly his pants were on the floor and he was stroking his erection, zeroing in on those plump, glistening lips.

'Pansy…' he growled.

She palmed her breasts, kneading them while her thighs parted. 'Blaise,' she breathed. 'I need your cock in my mouth.'

'Huh?' Blaise stuttered. 'But I want to put my cock in your mouth.'

'Good! Do it!'

He inched over to her. Her head was tilted back over the chaise arm, and her lips were parted. He placed a leg on either side of her face, and angled his cock over her lips. Her tongue darted out and licked his head ravenously. 'Here I come, baby,' he whispered, and fed his large, hard, cock into her mouth. She gulped greedily, sucking ravenously. Within seconds, she had fed his cock to the back of her throat, moaning each time he bottomed out.

Blaise couldn't believe it. No bird he'd shagged ever swallowed his cock like this. And she loved it. Moaning, begging for more. At least he presumed so, since she couldn't talk. He leaned forward and started to steadily fuck her mouth in and out, in and out, listening to her gag and getting harder every time she overcame it. His cock was coated, dripping in her saliva, and he'd never felt so hard.

It didn't escape his noticed that Pansy had pulled her dress up and her delicate hands were shoved into her tiny panties. The gusset was soaked in her juices, and her hips were bucking spasmodically.

'That's right, take my cock like a good girl, yes, yes, just like that,' Blaise grunted. He was really giving it to her mouth and throat, but she was taking it all.

Blaise needed more. He pulled his cock out of Pansy's mouth, dripping with her saliva. She moaned in disappointment.

He leaned back against the bookcase, stroking his cock hard. 'Get up,' he snapped.

She scrambled up from the chaise. Her lipstick was gone, and she was breathing heavily.

'Remove your dress,' he commanded.

She undid the knot at her waist, and the dress fell to her feet, leaving her standing in drenched knickers and high heels.

Would you look at those tits… _mama mia!_

'Go to the desk and lean over. Spread your legs,' Blaise growled.

Unsteadily, she did so. When she leaned over his desk, her drenched panties were on full display.

He divested himself of his shirt, and walked slowly to stand behind her.

He leaned over her and whispered in her ear. 'Do you want me to fuck you?'

'Yes, Gods yes!' Pansy moaned.

He ran a finger down her gusset, slowly. Pansy wailed and shifted under his finger, trying to get him to touch her clitoris.

He slapped her arse hard. She yelped in need. 'No, no, no,' Blaise whispered, 'no moving around. You will spread your legs and I will fuck you, is that understood?'

'Yes, yes!' Pansy cried.

'Hmm…' Blaise considered. I don't think I can trust you.' He accio'd his wand, and before Pansy knew it, her arms and legs were tethered to the desk. She was totally at his mercy.

She practically came at the thought.

Blaise could smell her arousal. Gods, it smelled good. Dimly he was aware that he should be gently seducing her, burying his face between her folds and making her come again and again before he entered her, but if he didn't get his cock in her body again soon, he'd spontaneously combust.

With one swift move, he ripped her panties off her legs. And there it was. The prettiest, rosiest, wettest little cunt you ever saw. He lined up his cock, grabbed hold of the desk, and rammed it inside Pansy as hard as he could.

Pansy screamed, convulsing around his cock, her orgasm assaulting her in waves. Blaise fucked her through it mercilessly. It felt like they went at it for hours, he fucking her pussy hard, she meeting each piercing stab, begging for more.

Gods, thought Pansy, this is all rather sudden. He'd always seemed so distant before.

What the hell am I complaining about? This is the best sex of my life!

Just then, Blaise leaned over her, kissing her spine up to her neck. Pulling her dishevelled hair to one side, he whispered in her ear:

'You have a body that would make grown men cry, Pansy. I can't believe how incredible you feel you under me. I want to make you come over and over… and make you mine.'

She wailed as her pussy clamped around his cock again, her orgasm pulsing through her uncontrollably. Blaise sped up, whispering 'fuck fuck fuck' under his breath – then he came, throwing his head back and roaring his release to the heavens.

Blaise leaned over her, breathing heavily, as was she. Their bodies were both slicked with sweat. Pansy heard a rhythmic drip… drip… and her cheeks heated when she realised that she was listening to their come drip from her pussy onto Blaise's study floor.

Blaise kissed her shoulder gently. 'Wow. Pansy… that was… you were… amazing.'

She knew. She wasn't how she achieved it, though. She'd never behaved so wantonly before. But she loved every single second of it. And she wanted more.

Blaise was still inside her. She wiggled her bottom gently, not wanting to dislodge him, but making her intent clear. 'I want you to fuck me again, Blaise,' she murmured.

As if on cue, Blaise's cock hardened. 'Your wish is my command, my love,' he replied. He reached for his wand to undo the ties that tethered Pansy to his desk.

'No – please leave them,' she whispered.

Blaise smirked, rearing back, ready to plunge his cock into her wet heat again. What a saucy minx, he thought proudly. And she's all mine.

'Blaise!'

* * *

 **Right, that's enough sex for now! Next: it's Sunday morning at The Burrow...**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I'm unemployed for a week, so I get to do my favourite thing, which is write! Hooray!**

 **Thanks heaps for your reviews, favourites and follows - keep 'em coming xx**

* * *

 **Sunday morning, bloody early**

Two people had a poor nights' sleep.

Hermione tossed and turned for the umpteenth time and glared at the ceiling, now visible in the grey dawn light.

He's just the proxy. That's what he said.

Then why does it feel so good when he touches me?

And what about Blaise?

Compared to what I've learned about Draco these past couple of weeks, I barely know Blaise at all.

Except that he's a slut. Face it, Granger.

And Draco's a celibate workaholic. Is that any better?

He's been acting rather odd, lately.

Oh, why should I care if he's been acting odd?

He's just the proxy.

That's what he said.

She lit up her wand and turned to a chapter of _Hogwarts: A History_. Just the thing to soothe her turbulent thoughts.

However, this time, nary a word sunk in.

* * *

Draco lay in his bed, staring the ceiling, now visible in the grey dawn light. There were things on his mind.

What does one wear to a family breakfast and Quidditch game? It seemed that for the past five years all he's worn is a suit. If he was going to fall off his broom and land flat on his face, he'd prefer at least to not look out of place while doing it.

Maybe he could ask Hermione.

Ah, yes, and then there's Hermione. Time was running out. Blaise wasn't too far off from returning to work. He had to seduce Hermione away from Blaise by then.

And then…

And then…

He couldn't form the words. Even in his head.

He lit his wand and accio'd one of the Muggle financial newspapers. Just the thing to soothe his turbulent thoughts.

However, this time, nary a word sunk in.

* * *

 **Eight o'clock Sunday morning**

'Hello? Hermione?' Draco stepped through the Floo, trying not to get soot on her living room floor.

'Just a second!' came a muffled reply from what he presumed was her bedroom.

He strolled to the nearest bookcase and perused its contents. Biographies, histories, true crime (Draco raised an eye at that), wizard tomes, science, architecture – crikey, what a range! – and some fiction. He pulled out a slim volume at random. _Seducing the Schoolteacher_ , read the title.

He was reading the blurb on the back of the book, trying to keep a straight face, when it was suddenly pulled from his hand. 'I haven't read that in years,' Hermione muttered, her face red. 'I'd forgotten I had it, to be honest.'

Draco said nothing, because he was simply unable to. Hermione looked stunning in a white broderie anglaise halter maxi dress and ochre leather wedge sandals. Gold hoop earrings glinted through her hair. Her make-up was minimal, and her lips glistened with pink gloss. Against the crisp white of the dress, her skin looked golden.

'Wow. You look… for some reason, I'm reminded of an ice cream on a hot summer's day,' said Draco.

She blushed. 'Thanks,' she murmured.

He looked down at his jeans, trainers, t-shirt and unbuttoned plaid overshirt. 'Am I underdressed?' he asked worriedly.

This time, Hermione laughed. 'No, I'm overdressed,' she explained. 'Ginny and Molly love seeing my Paris clothes.' She stepped closer, and brushed some soot he'd missed off his shirt. 'You look great,' she said shyly.

'How are you going to keep that dress clean when we Floo to the Weasleys?' Draco asked.

'With great difficulty,' she sighed. 'My cloak helps, though.' She grabbed hers from her coat stand and wrapped it around her. 'I'll go first.' She took some Floo powder, stepped into her fireplace and cried 'The Burrow!' In a puff of smoke, she was gone.

Draco grabbed his broom and some powder and did the same.

* * *

When Draco arrived, Hermione was being mobbed by Ginny and Molly, who were both hugging her and spinning her around to see her dress at the same time.

Arthur eased himself around the giggling and cooing ladies and welcomed Draco with a hearty handshake.

'I'm very happy that you're here, Draco, very happy indeed!' he beamed.

'Great!' Draco replied, a little unsure. 'Er, may I ask why?'

Arthur led him to the kitchen. 'The kids were always pestering me to get up on a broom to even up the numbers for Quidditch,' he said. 'Now I can spend my Sundays as Merlin intended: relaxing in the garden and reading the newspapers!'

'Is that what Merlin intended for us?'

Arthur shrugged. 'He should have.'

Noise blasted from the kitchen door when Arthur opened it. The massive kitchen table was surrounded by a sea of red-heads – and one mop of shaggy dark hair. No way could you miss Harry Potter at this table.

Harry was the first to greet Draco. 'Welcome to The Burrow!' he said politely, saluting him with a mug of coffee.

Draco grinned. 'I've been here before,' he reminded Harry.

'Yeah, but you haven't been to Sunday breakfast and Quidditch at the Burrow!' said Ron, chewing some mystery item of food, since Molly hadn't levitated the breakfast dishes to the table yet. 'You eat until you nearly explode, then up on the brooms for a breezy round or two of the best game in the world.'

The thought turned Draco rather green. 'Do we have to eat until we explode?'

Fred, or George, who knew, said 'That's Advanced Quidditch. All you have to do is eat what Mum puts in front of you.'

His doppelgänger said 'Except she'll try to fatten you up, so it's possible that you might explode, after all.'

'That's enough, all of you!' Molly levitated dozens of dishes crammed with piping hot goodies onto the table. Once done, she plonked herself down at the head of the table, rapped Ron's knuckles when he tried to skewer a sausage with his fork, and said 'Hermione, as always, it's lovely to see you here, dear. Draco, welcome to our Sunday breakfast. I hope to see you here lots more from now on.'

Draco's stomach was jumping for joy at the sight of the delicious food. 'Mrs Weasley, you can count on it,' he said fervently.

'Are everyone's hands clean?'

'Yes, Mum!'

Draco noted with a smile that Arthur and Hermione chimed in, too.

'Right everyone! Dig in!'

Arms, forks and spoons shot out from nowhere and attacked the plates and bowls in the middle of the table. Draco quickly learned that company manners didn't apply, and that it was every witch or wizard for him- or herself. He gloated after he snagged the last piece of bacon from under Ron's very nose. But in doing so, he missed out on the slice of black pudding. Kudos to Ginny.

He looked at Hermione, who was daintily crafting her version of eggs benedict from toast, eggs, ham, roasted tomatoes and hollandaise sauce. She smiled back. 'Hope you got enough to eat.'

Draco looked at his plate. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, sausages, mushrooms, toast. 'Don't worry about me,' he smiled. 'You sure you're going to live on that?'

'Don't worry about me,' she grinned cheekily.

'Draco, are you sure you have enough, dear?' Molly called. 'You don't look like you get nearly enough to eat as it is.'

The twins smirked.

'I'm just pacing myself, Mrs Weasley. I don't want to embarrass myself on my broom later.'

'Ooh,' she cooed. 'Well, don't you worry. There's plenty more where that came from.'

'Where?' Ron asked with his mouth full. 'Ow!'

Molly put her spoon down. 'Don't talk with your mouth full. And never you mind!'

* * *

Outside, the sky was blue and light breeze played in the air. The grass was bright and green and gnomes were cheerfully frolicking in the Weasley's vegetable patch. It was a perfect day for Quidditch.

Arthur, who had enthusiastically dragged out a deckchair and a copy of the _The Daily Prophet_ (weekend edition), was crushed when Molly instructed him to de-gnome the veggie patch if he had nothing better to do.

Ginny, feeling sorry for her Dad, called down from her broom: 'Dad, now we've got even teams, we need a referee! How about it?'

Arthur looked at the veggie patch, then up at the kids. With a hurried 'Sorry, love, I'll do them after the game!' he scurried off to the shed to grab his broom.

Molly rolled her eyes and headed inside.

Hermione sat down on Arthur's abandoned deckchair and hoisted her skirt up past her knees in order to get some sun on her legs.

Draco glanced down, and was instantly distracted by a pair of long, golden legs that until recently were hidden behind panels of white broderie anglaise.

'Oi, watch it, mate!' called Fred (he was pretty sure it was Fred because he and Fred were on the same team) as Draco nearly cannoned in to him.

'Oh, shit. Sorry.' Draco rubbed a hand over his face.

Fred grinned. 'Who would've thought Hermione could scrub up so well, eh?'

'Uh.' Draco wasn't too sure what to say. She was his employee, after all. 'She does, yes. But she always was lovely, wasn't she?'

Fred clapped him on the shoulder and flew off, throwing a knowing smirk to George along the way.

Draco learned that the rules for three-a-side Quidditch, Weasley-style, were simple. There was no snitch, but there was one quaffle and two bludgers. The goal posts were: over one ginormous tree at one end of the property; and over one ginormous tree at the other end of the property. Each team member could handle both a quaffle and a bludger (although not preferably at the same time) and anyone could keep goal. The end of the game came about when the players got into a huge argument and people didn't feel like playing anymore. But with Arthur as referee, it was decided that the back-up end of the game was the first team to get the quaffle over a ginormous tree fifty times. Easy!

'All right?' Ginny asked Draco, hovering next to him. Gods, he was glad he was on her team! And that the twins were on different teams.

'Yeah. I think so!'

'Don't be nice to them!' Ginny nodded at the other team. 'They won't be nice to you!'

'All ready?' shouted Arthur. 'Go!' He threw the quaffle into the air and scrambled out of the way as the mad scrum for the ball began.

* * *

Hermione relaxed on Arthur's deckchair. A book was sitting by her side, forgotten. With her sunglasses on, she looked like she was either asleep, or watching the game. In truth, she was doing a little of both.

Draco had discarded his plaid shirt before he hopped on his broom. He stripped it off and handed it to her, asking in a distracted sort of polite way if she would mind holding it while he was playing.

Hermione folded his shirt neatly and laid it at the end of her deckchair, surreptitiously inhaling Draco's scent from the shirt. Lord, she was being ridiculous. But oh, he smells so damn nice…

She wasn't too sure who was winning. When Arthur was playing, she had to keep score, and it was an utter bore. The players often disagreed with her scores anyway.

This time, she kept an eye on Draco. He did look pretty nervous about flying when she asked him to The Burrow. He seemed to be coping well, though. He was fast, and while he didn't stoop to the twins' dirty tactics, he was proving himself to be quite accurate with a bludger. Play had to be suspended when Draco accidentally hit Fred, thinking he was George, so Arthur changed the colour of Fred's t-shirt to make the twins distinguishable from each other.

Ginny was a superstar, of course. Not a single bludger touched her, despite George and Ron's best efforts (Harry refused to throw them at his wife) and she racked up thirty points before the other team realised what had happened.

It was war from then on in. Arthur gave up trying to penalise them for fouls and did his best to stay out of harm's way. Ginny's team were leading on 49 goals, but Harry's team were making up for lost time with 47. Harry, sick of being nagged by Ron and George, finally joined in their attack against Ginny. Fred was busy bludgering them when Ginny desperately called out 'Draco!' and blindly threw the quaffle in his direction. Draco soared after it, caught it and hurtled it over the ginormous tree. Victory!

Arthur declared the game to be over, and said he would listen to properly-lodged protests and complaints _after_ he had sat down on his deckchair with a Butterbeer, and the paper, not before. In a flash of inspiration, he also declared that the losers had to de-gnome the vegetable patch, which made the winning team all that more elated and the losing team all that more pissed off.

'Well done, guys!' Hermione applauded when Fred, Draco and Ginny landed. She hugged and kissed a breathless Ginny on the cheek, and did the same with Fred, despite his insisting that he surely he deserved one on his lips by now. Laughing, she reached out to hug Draco, but suddenly stepped back, unsure. Still, she stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek. At least, that was her intention. Draco, not sure what she was doing, shifted, and their lips suddenly met for the briefest moment.

'Hey, how come he gets a kiss on the lips and I don't?' grizzled Fred.

'Shove it, Fred,' said Hermione, blushing.

The others filed off into The Burrow for lunch, but Draco caught Hermione's hand. 'Hey, I had a fantastic time today,' he smiled. 'Thank you.'

Hermione was still blushing from the accidental kiss. 'No thanks needed,' she said. 'It was all up to you.'

'No, I mean it,' Draco insisted. 'As a thank you, would you like to come out to dinner with me tonight?'

Of course she bloody well would. 'Oh,' she said, sounding a bit flustered. 'It's a bit late notice' –

'Of course,' Draco replied, embarrassed. 'How stupid of' –

'I would love to,' Hermione intervened before he could talk himself out of it.

'Great!' he smiled.

Her knees melted.

* * *

 **Sunday evening**

Hermione was facing a conundrum that had, until recently, completely escaped her. What the hell was she going to wear?

Draco wouldn't say where they were going (typical) but did say there wasn't a dress code that he was aware of.

So, that meant she didn't need to fossick through her evening dresses. And she sincerely doubted that he'd take her anywhere where jeans were considered haute couture. Great. She'd eliminated three percent of her wardrobe.

She dashed to her Floo and stuck her head in it. 'Ginny!' she hollered.

* * *

'Quick, I don't have long, he'll be here any minute!'

'Will you stop whipping your head around? Do you want to be stabbed in the eye?' Ginny groused through a mouthful of hair pins.

'Sorry!' Hermione sat on her hands and stared at her reflection while Ginny finished pinning her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. 'Oh, Gods, I'm so nervous.'

Ginny kept her smile to herself. 'You have nothing to be nervous about,' she assured Hermione. 'Or… are you expecting something to happen?'

'I don't know,' Hermione muttered.

Ginny put in the last hairpin and looked at Hermione through the mirror. 'Do you want something to happen?' she asked gently.

Hermione bit her lip.

Ginny hugged her. 'Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'm sure Draco's a considerate lover.' She thought. 'Albeit a possibly rusty one.'

'Gin, it's fine, I'm not a virgin anymore.' Then she realised what she had just said and clapped a hand over her mouth.

'What?' Ginny shrieked loud enough to wake the dead. 'When the hell did this happen? And why didn't you tell me?'

'In Paris, and I honestly forgot! So many things have happened since then!' Then she heard the rustle and whoosh of the Floo. 'Oh, shit! He's here!'

'Don't panic, don't panic,' Ginny said as she flung Hermione's handbag in her general direction. 'You look stunning, as always. I'll slow him down. You – take big breaths.' She disappeared.

It's a date, isn't it? Hermione asked herself as she looked in the mirror again. When a man asks a woman to dine in a restaurant, that's a date, right?

Does he like me?

I really want him to like me.

All of me.

Every inch of me.

She took a deep breath and stood up, checking herself in the mirror. Ginny had done wonders with her hair and make-up, despite the shortness of time and Harry's complaints about their pudding going cold.

They eventually decided on a form-fitting sheath dress with cap sleeves that ended above her knees. Its high neckline made the dress reminiscent of a cheongsam. Its black satin material with a red peony pattern added to the illusion.

She swallowed. She looked like a rabbit caught in a speeding farmer's headlights.

Collecting her handbag and a bolero shrug, she stepped out into the hall.

* * *

'Hi, teammate!'

Draco was a little surprised to see Ginny saunter into the living room.

'Hi, yourself,' Draco smiled. 'Always a pleasure to see you.'

'I was just helping Hermione choose a dress,' Ginny said breezily. 'She brought so many back from Paris, she could get lost in her closet for days.' She gave Draco a professional once-over. 'You look very nice.'

He was wearing a three-piece herringbone dark grey suit and a dark red tie, tied in a complicated Eldridge knot. His hair was styled back with a side part, and with his dark-framed spectacles he almost made her forget she was a married woman. If she's seen better-looking models on the cover of the Muggle Men's Vogue, she'll be a monkey's uncle.

'Hi.' A soft voice at the hallway door made them both turn.

Hermione stood there, blown away by the beautiful man standing in her living room. He, in turn, was temporarily speechless. Every time he saw her, she looked more beautiful. It defied reason, but there you were.

Ginny, feeling like an aged mother chaperoning a couple of teenagers, kissed Hermione swiftly on the cheek. 'I'd best get back to Harry,' she said apologetically. 'He gets grumpy if he doesn't have pudding.'

'Okay, bye, thanks,' Hermione said vaguely.

'Yes, bye, thanks,' Draco echoed, just as vaguely.

Ginny rolled her eyes with a grin and Floo'd back home.

'You look really lovely,' Draco said, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek.

'So do you,' Hermione, said, blushing. She indicated her dress. 'Will this be okay for the restaurant?'

'Definitely. No-one will be able to take their eyes off you.' And they can all eat crow, because she's with me, he thought smugly.

At least, for a while.

'Uh, how are you with heights?' he asked.

'Why?' She looked at him askance. 'We're not flying, are we?'

'No, no. It's just that the restaurant's a few storeys up.'

'Oh. That's no problem.'

'Good.' He smiled and offered her his arm. 'Your carriage awaits.'

She linked arms with him, and they left her flat and entered the idling taxi, which had been summoned as if by magic.

* * *

 **What will happen at the restaurant? Or, more importantly, afterwards? Stay tuned!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Dear French-speaking readers: I'm terribly sorry if I have mangled your beautiful language in this chapter. I went purely by what Google Translate told me to write. Please let me know what my errors are; and the corrections – it's the only way I'll learn. Merci beaucoup.**

 **None of the venues referred to in this chapter are being endorsed. Neither are any of them endorsing me. *sigh* Just picked them at random off the Internet, folks. Of course, I still had to make a lot of stuff up that Ye Olde Internet couldn't supply, so any errors attributed to the venues are entirely mine. Sorry, Londoners.**

 **Now that I've possibly offended readers across two nations, shall we crack on?**

* * *

 **Sunday evening**

The taxi pulled up, the driver said ''Ere we are, guv,' and Draco paid with a credit card that looked suspiciously platinum in colour.

Trouble was, when Hermione looked out of her window, she couldn't see any restaurants. Mostly she just saw pillars and glass.

Draco helped her out of the taxi. 'Have you been here before?'

'Been where before?' She spotted a sign and headed over to it. 'The Shangri-La Hotel?'

'Ah… no,' Draco said, looking a mite embarrassed. He pointed up.

Hermione looked up. And up. And up. 'Jesus. This is The Shard,' she breathed.

'Our restaurant's on the thirty-first floor.'

Hermione clapped her hands in delight. 'Are you taking me to Aquashard to thank me for inviting you to a' – she looked around and lowered her voice – 'Quidditch game?'

'Is that okay?' Draco asked. 'It's been years since I've taken a woman out on a' – he clamped his mouth shut and looked at his shoes.

Hermione's heart started bouncing all around. A date. He must have been going to say 'date.' And now he's all bashful. He is so cute!

She didn't press him. Instead she said 'Race you to the restaurant!' and skipped into the building on her high-heeled sandals.

Draco allowed her some leeway while he berated himself mentally for letting his mouth run on. Looking ahead, he saw that she was just about to get inside a lift – without waiting for him, it would seem – so he put his skates on.

* * *

Hermione tried not to show it, but she was.

Disappointed.

Draco noticed, of course. 'Why so glum?' he asked. 'Is something the matter?'

'Oh! No, no, of course not, no,' she rambled.

Draco raised an eyebrow over his wine.

'Well, this is going to come out really princess-y, and I know it sounds bad, but I'd sort of hoped we'd have a table by the windows…' she trailed off.

The restaurant was surrounded by massive sheets of glass, offering diners unsurpassed views of London. It was quietly outfitted in dark wood and steel, fitting nicely into The Shard's overall design.

Draco smiled. 'I'm afraid my name's no good here,' he said. 'They don't take requests for window seats. Which prevents rich bastards like me paying for the best seats while the everyday person gets to go without.'

Hermione smiled. 'Sounds fair.'

'There are viewing platforms further up the tower. Maybe after dinner we could' –

'Oh, yes!' Hermione said earnestly. 'That would be wonderful. Now I won't have to get peeved at trying to see the view through someone's masticating head.'

Draco cocked his head to the side to study her. 'How come you're happy to stand on a viewing platform thousands of metres off the ground but you refuse to fly a – well, you know?'

Hermione groaned. 'Who told you?'

'It's hard to recall. Possibly Harry. I had lots of people volunteering all sorts of information about you today. It didn't strike me as odd until just now.'

'They may not be up to anything. All of them love to tease, and you were the new kid on the block. Anyway. I trust the architects, engineers and builders who designed and built this building. I don't trust flimsy 'you knows'. That's it, basically.'

'Shame.' Draco grinned. 'It's a hell of a ride.' Then he wondered why Hermione's face turned beet red.

* * *

 **Somewhere through the entrees**

'Hermione.' Draco coughed and tried again. 'Hermione. There's something I want to tell you.'

Suddenly, Hermione's heart was beating up and down in her throat. 'What is it?'

'It's been pointed out to me, often, that I work too hard. I had a wonderful time today, and it's helped me decide. I'm going to go to Paris. Not for work. Not for anything, really. Just to be me.'

For a horrible moment, Hermione felt like she had been stabbed in the heart. But she recovered, pasted on a smile and said 'That's wonderful! Oh, Paris will make a different person of you, I guarantee it; double or your money back! Oh, Draco, I'm so glad you're going!' She toasted him, then her brittle smile caved. 'Or am I?'

Draco felt like he'd just run over her cats. 'Hermione' –

She laughed; a little tinkle. 'Oh, don't mind me! I'm just so envious of you, going to Paris! Truly!' She reached out and touched his hand. 'You'll have an amazing time.'

Draco caught her hand in his. 'Thank you,' he said, kissing it.

No point mourning what never happened, thought Hermione to herself. So don't do it. Just be happy for him.

And once she reached the bottom of her wineglass, she actually started to believe it.

* * *

 **During the main course**

'Now,' Hermione instructed, 'this is what you do on your very first day in Paris. You get yourself some rain. Not just a drizzle, but honest-to-goodness rain.'

Draco watched her, slowly twirling the rim of his wineglass.

'Then,' she smiled, 'you find yourself someone really nice and drive her through Paris in a taxi. The rain's very important, you see. Because that's when Paris smells its sweetest.' She looked in his eyes. 'It's the damp chestnut trees, you see.'

'I see,' Draco murmured.

'You're very clever, Draco, and very rich. You could order yourself some rain.'

'Sure. I can order myself some rain, I can get myself a taxi. That's easy. But can I find myself someone… really nice? That's not so easy.' His silver eyes glittered, and she had to look away.

* * *

 **During dessert**

'My French is woeful!' Hermione laughed. 'you'd have to be crazy to want to learn from me.'

'My French is non-existent,' countered Draco. 'Much to my mother's disappointment. You must know heaps more than me. For example: I bet you can say in French 'my sister has a yellow pencil.''

Hermione snorted. 'Ma soeur a un crayon jaune.'

'All right. How about 'My colleague has a lovely girlfriend?'

She giggled. 'Mon collègue a une belle petite amie.'

Draco put down his dessert spoon. In a low voice, he asked 'How do you say 'I wish I were my colleague?''

Hermione swallowed, caught in his gaze. 'J'aimerais être mon collègue,' she said in a whisper.

The waiter wafted by and refilled their glasses.

* * *

Eventually, there was no more to eat or drink. Draco stood up and held out his hand to Hermione. 'Ready for a view?'

Hermione grinned. 'Can't wait!'

They hopped into a lift. Draco looked at her uncertainly before swiping a card and pressing the button for level thirty-nine.

Hermione saw. 'Are you all right?' she asked, concerned.

Draco leaned against the wall and let his breath out. He smiled at her, and said 'Yeah. I am.'

'Me too,' she said softly.

They bumped elbows and grinned.

The lift ding-donged and Draco led her out into a quiet, carpeted lobby. Not quite what Hermione expected for a viewing platform. 'Where are we?'

'Well,' he started, rubbing the back of his neck, 'there are viewing platforms further up the tower. But I thought you might prefer your own exclusive viewing platform, as it were. No need to share with the public, you see.'

'Really?' she asked, with an eyebrow raised. 'And what exactly is this floor called?'

Draco sighed. 'Well, it's called the Shangri-La Suite, and it's a hotel suite that's kind of available for me, Father and Blaise to use when we're in Muggle London.'

Hermione didn't know what to say.

'I don't want you to feel like you're being pressured into anything,' he said softly. 'The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.'

Gods. If only he knew what she wanted. And, also. How incredibly sexy is an uncertain Draco Malfoy, standing there in his amazing suit and spectacles and perfect hair, hands in his pockets and biting his lower lip? Honestly, she thought, I don't know why I bother wearing panties around him when they just get wet all the time.

'Thank you for telling me,' she said simply. 'I know I can completely trust you, Draco.'

He swallowed. 'Well, then, without any further ado' – he swiped the entrance card and held the door open for her.

* * *

It left Hermione speechless. The view, the suite, the man – everything. Wide-eyed, she wandered slowly along the perimeter of the apartment, seeing nothing but the amazing view of London at night-time. She felt like she was up among the stars, looking down on the concrete and glass edifices that shaped London's landscape. In amongst the glinting lights, a black snake wound its serpentine way through the city. The Thames.

Draco removed his jacket and turned the stereo onto some low classical music – more Father's taste than Blaise's. He watched Hermione watching London, and felt something shift inside his soul.

His body moved of its own accord towards her. He ground in his heels, though, and diverted to the kitchen. He found some chilled sparkling water and poured a couple of glasses, mostly to give his hands something to do.

Hermione found him there. She was like a child in a sweet shop, giddy with excitement. 'This place is fantastic!' she gushed. 'Have you seen the master bathroom? Of course you've seen the master bathroom! Oh, my Gods, there's a freestanding bath! And it's beautiful! And you can look out over London while having an actual bath! Oh, wow, it must be fun being rich!'

Draco laughed and handed her a glass of water. 'I guess it can be. I've not viewed my world from your world before.'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'You've not missed much.'

Draco thought about the chaotic breakfast he had this morning with the Weasleys. 'Some things are too precious to have a price.'

'Yes,' agreed Hermione, a faraway look in her eyes. Then she grinned. 'Have you used the bath?'

'No, Miss Nosy,' Draco laughed. 'Us rich types can't waste time in baths. Just the showers for us.'

'I bet Blaise has used it,' laughed Hermione, 'with a woman, too.'

Draco froze, and looked carefully at her. 'Are you okay with that?' he asked carefully.

Hermione put her glass down. 'Yeah, I am,' she said softly. 'Draco – I've kind of fallen out of love with Blaise.'

'Oh. Um, this might sound crass, but may I offer my congratulations?'

'If you like. I do recall you telling me he was an utter wanker when it came to women, the same as everyone else.' She smiled cynically.

Draco drifted out to the living room, and leaned against one of the glass panels, looking out. Hermione followed him, but didn't feel brave enough to lean against the glass.

'Draco?' she asked softly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Forgive me,' he said. 'I haven't done this in a long time.'

Hermione quirked her head. 'Done what?'

Draco looked out over London, then back at the beautiful woman before him. 'I guess what I said during dinner was a bit of a shock,' he began.

She couldn't deny it. 'A little, yes.'

'My next words might also shock you, a little.'

Merlin on a pike, he's gay, wailed Hermione's internal voice.

His gaze on her was completely serious. Transfixed, she couldn't look away.

'Hermione.' He breathed in, then breathed out. His next words were whispered, but still retained their intensity. 'I really want to kiss you.'

You could have knocked her over with a feather.

* * *

Draco wasn't immediately encouraged when he saw the shock on her face. But he was heartened when the shock was replaced by a beautiful smile and gorgeously cute blushing cheeks. He stepped towards her, and gently cupped her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones, transfixed by the long lashes that fluttered above. He drew his face close, oh so slowly, then kissed her at last.

Gods, it was a beautiful kiss, thought Hermione in a daze. So sweet and gentle to start. Then as their need grew, the kiss became more clever, more passionate.

When they needed air, they stopped and looked around, wondering why nothing in the apartment had changed when their whole world had transformed. Hermione stepped into Draco's arms, and they silently watched the world outside, listening to the beat of each other's hearts.

This feels so right, being in his arms, thought Hermione.

She feels so right in my arms, thought Draco.

* * *

 **'Sabrina' fans will recognise some of the dialogue. In cases like this, why try to better perfection?**

 **What will Draco and Hermione do next? Stay tuned!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Another shorty, but I hope you'll agree it's a goody! Lemons abound...**

* * *

He couldn't help himself.

He knew it was a bad idea.

But – she was so happy. Her body felt so perfect. And he hadn't been with a woman in years. Not that that's an excuse, mind you. But it's why he threw rational thought out the window (not literally, at thirty-nine floors up) and:

'Would you come to bed with me?' he asked hoarsely.

She hugged him tight. 'Yes,' she replied.

* * *

Inside the luxuriously panelled master suite with the lights dimmed low. There was no hurry. They wanted to learn each other's bodies.

They kissed while Hermione unbuttoned his vest and placed it on the sofa before the bed.

'My turn,' breathed Draco, turning her around.

'That's not fair!' she giggled. 'You have far more clothes on than I do.'

He placed a kiss on her neck. 'You have far more hairpins than I do.'

'True. Can you take them out, please?'

Draco sat on the bed while Hermione stood before him, looking out over London's stunning nightscape while Draco gently removed every hairpin, one by one.

When he was done, she shook her hair out, the curls settling on her shoulders. Turning around, Draco drew in his breath. He loved Hermione like this – with her hair down, wide eyes outlined with eyeliner, and her lipstick kissed away.

Hermione reached for his tie, and laughed. 'There's no way I can undo that Gordian knot!'

Draco smiled and said he'd do it. As he started to pull the tie apart, she asked 'Can you leave the knot still tied? I want to see how it's done.'

'I can show you in the morning, as often as you like,' Draco replied, mostly steadily.

She glanced at his face, blushing; and nodded.

Shoes and socks and things were discarded without pomp or ceremony. Eventually Draco, shirtless and cufflink-less, slowly slid the zipper down Hermione's dress, kissing her spine as he went. The dress pooled on the floor, and she stepped out of it, turned around, and stood before him, outlined by the night's stars.

She took his breath away. All he could do was stand, and stare.

'Draco?' Hermione asked nervously.

He came to, and within two strides he had her in his arms, kissing her heatedly.

He didn't break their kiss while he scooped her up and placed her gently on the bed. He parted from her for only the briefest of seconds while he pulled his trousers off. Tossing them Gods-knows-where, he climbed onto the bed and settled his body over hers.

She was trembling.

'Are you cold?' he asked, concerned.

'No, you idiot,' she smiled.

'Good. Kiss me.'

'Yes, Mr Malfoy.'

* * *

It was so beautiful. Just like she imagined.

If he was concerned about being out of practice, she thought, it didn't show.

He committed her body to memory with his touch and his lips. After divesting Hermione of her luscious underwear, he traced over her breasts with his fingers and tongue, avoiding the area she wanted him to touch the most until she was begging him. He closed his lips over one nipple while recreating the same sensation on her other nipple with his fingers.

Every move he made was deliberate, rather than passionate. But Hermione saw the intensity in his face every time he looked at her, and she shook at the emotion that she felt through his touch.

Draco swore under his breath when he sunk a long finger inside her. He'd never before encountered a core that was so wet, so hot, so tight. He briefly thought back to the torturous wank he had in his office bathroom not so long ago. Three strokes, and he was done. If he lasted three strokes inside this beautiful woman, he'd award himself a Muggle Olympic medal.

She was so reactive, he marvelled. Almost his opposite. Her passionate fire to his cool intensity. She fed off him, as he did off her. Sliding another finger inside her, he revelled in her broken moans and words, begging him to make her come. When he applied his thumb to her previously unattended clitoris, her pussy clamped down on his fingers so tight his fingers crushed together, and her wail of release bathed his skin, making him feel in-fucking-vincible.

Apart from his fingers.

Her hands latched on to his boxer briefs. 'I need you now,' she whispered, still clawing for breath after her orgasm. Draco stood up and removed them, hissing as he grasped his erection, which he'd done his best to ignore until now.

Hermione sat languidly, watching him as he shed his underwear. Her lips parted when she saw his size. He was, of course, perfect. His face, his body, his brain, his personality, his penis. Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect.

She wanted it.

Draco watched Hermione crawl towards him with alarm, her eyes fixed on his erection, wetting her lips with her tongue.

Shit. Once he was in her mouth it'll be all over.

'No,' he said clearly with only a tiny hint of a wobble to his voice.

She pouted, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

He captured her lower lip with his kiss, gently tugging until she opened and he swept his tongue inside her. He grasped her by the waist and hoisted her back among the pillows. He leaned over her, settling between her legs and exhaling with a shudder as his cock brushed against her beautiful core.

He ended the kiss, but barely pulled away, only enough to look into her eyes.

'You have me,' he whispered into her mouth, and surged inside her.

* * *

Hermione had scoffed when she'd heard people (Ginny) say, on occasion, that the sex was so good they thought they'd died and gone to heaven. Well. If she ever recovered her sensibilities again, she'd make a mental note to apologise to Ginny but she couldn't right now because she'd never felt anything so utterly amazing in this world than the moment when Draco thrust himself inside her. She knew she didn't command her legs to wrap around his waist, her arms around his neck, her mouth to beg him not to move a fucking inch because she was going to come just from one stroke. They just moved of their own accord.

Her back arched, scraping her nipples across his chest as a soundless scream clawed free from her throat. Honest-to-goodness tears trickled from her eyes as her pussy convulsed around him, over and over and over.

Draco kissed the tears away, his arms starting to shudder from holding still and stopping himself from pulling back and fucking her with abandon. 'Love,' he whispered, 'you're killing me. I have to move' –

Hermione stopped him with a passionate kiss and rocked up and down on his cock. Set free, Draco withdrew and surged in again, building up force each time as Hermione begged him for more. Yep, he thought. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect brain, perfect personality, perfect pussy.

Hermione pushed back his sweat-slicked hair with both hands and whispered to him. He made her feel so fucking amazing, she wanted to come for him, on him, over him. She wanted to feel him come inside her. She wanted to look at his face when he did, a look that only she would know.

Gods, she was incredible, thought Draco with the last of his sanity.

He felt the walls of her pussy snare his cock in a death grip, the same time as her fingernails clawed into his shoulders. It was too much. He came inside her as she came around him.

He was among the stars, making love to an angel.

* * *

Draco lay on his back on the dishevelled bed with his hands around Hermione's hips, controlling her pace as she rode his cock.

She threw her head back in abandon as she moved. He watched her curls settle around her face, haloed by the pink streaks of dawn that bled into the night sky.

Never had he seen anything more beautiful.

In another world, he'd buy a residential apartment in this building, just for him and Hermione. They'd make love in every room while the world got on with its dreary business fifty-odd floors below.

In this world, he held her hips down as he surged hard inside her. She came in waves as he experienced the most blissful sensation of his life.

Letting go. Inside her.

She draped herself over him, slick and exhausted, trying to control her breathing. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

'Hermione?' he asked eventually.

'Hmm?' His angel was drifting off to sleep again.

'Come to Paris with me.'

She stilled. Slowly she pulled herself up and looked in his eyes. 'Do you mean that?'

He swallowed, and nodded. 'Yes, love. I want to be in Paris with you.'

The happiest smile he'd ever seen her make broke out over her face. 'I was praying you would ask! I'd love to go with you, Draco.'

They kissed deeply, and she slid off him to curl up among the pillows and sleep.

Draco watched the sun rise, and wished he were dead.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, after 18 chapters, I finally managed to work in a 'Yes, Mr Malfoy.' Better late than never, eh.**

 **According to a 2015 promo video I watched, the rate for Draco and Hermione's room is** **14,000 pounds per night. Hoo boy! *author fans herself***

 **Why is Draco down in the dumps after such an unbelievable night with Hermione? Stay tuned!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Monday evening**

Lucius wandered into Draco's suite at Malfoy Manor. He eventually located Draco in his office, standing by one of the vast windows, watching the sun fade away.

'You weren't at work today,' Lucius announced.

Draco didn't turn around. 'True.'

Lucius sat in a nearby upholstered armchair. 'It didn't escape your Mother's notice that you didn't come home until late this morning.'

A nerve ticked in Draco's jaw. Reason one thousand, five hundred and eighty-six why he should get his own place.

Lucius could see that his son didn't want to talk, but this was business, and business had to be discussed. He modified his tone a little. 'How goes the plan?' he asked.

Draco shifted, and sat down on the window seat. Observing his father, he said 'You look different.'

Lucius looked down at himself. 'How?'

Draco snapped his fingers. 'Got it. I'm not viewing you through a cloud of cigar smoke.'

Lucius smirked. 'Your mother made me see reason.' He looked at his hands, which were shaking slightly. 'It's not easy, though.'

'Good for you, Father,' Draco said softly.

Lucius, always uncomfortable with emotions, waved his hand airily. 'Good job changing the subject. But let's return. The plan?'

Dully, Draco replied 'It worked. I've convinced her to come to Paris with me.'

'Excellent!' Lucius smiled. Then he shot out of his chair. 'What? Why the hell are you going with her?'

Draco sighed. 'I'm not. Or rather, I am, but I'm leaving her there.'

'Oh.' Lucius sat back down. Women, he grizzled to himself. Nothing but bloody trouble. Narcissa excepted.

Draco thrust a piece of parchment at Lucius. 'Read this.'

Lucius did as asked, his eyebrows raising ever higher as he made his way down.

Handing it back, he restrained his comments to 'That's a lot of money, son.'

Draco shrugged. 'It's my money.'

Lucius grizzled to himself again. Women. Bloody expensive things. Narcissa included.

Draco waited until his father left, then dropped his head in his hands.

* * *

 **Tuesday morning**

'Miss Granger to see you, Mr Malfoy.'

'Thanks. Send her in.'

Behind his desk, he watched the door open, and the woman he recently shared a super king-sized bed with walked towards him – hips swinging subtly, head held high. She was holding a parchment.

As she neared, he rose from his chair and walked around his desk to meet her.

'Hello,' she said, a smile playing on her lovely mouth.

'Hello,' he returned quietly.

They took each other in, missing nothing.

In a lightning movement, Draco took out his wand and locked the door.

He gathered Hermione into his arms and kissed her like she was his last chance of life.

* * *

'What do you have there?' he asked, sometime later.

'Oh.' She tucked her blouse back into her skirt and handed the parchment to him. 'It's my resignation,' she said shyly.

The guilt that sliced through him took his breath away. He accepted her parchment with a hand that shook slightly, and read through it with unnecessary care.

'As much as it grieves me to lose such a valuable member of this organisation,' he stated formally, 'I regretfully accept your resignation.' He rolled it up and tossed it over his shoulder onto his desk with a grin.

Suddenly, Hermione shivered. 'Wow. This is happening so suddenly.' For a second, she looked like a lost little girl.

He leaned against his desk and drew her in front of him, wrapping his arms around her. Resting his chin on her head, of course. They looked out of his windows over Diagon Alley. Thinking back to the view from the hotel suite.

'I don't know what to say to my friends,' she confessed. 'They'll think I've gone mad and will cart me off to St Mungo's for tests.'

Crap. Her friends. They'll kill him.

'How about we surprise them?'

Hermione was noncommittal. 'How?'

'Well,' he started, thinking frantically. 'How about we… just go? Tonight?'

He felt her body tense.

'And then,' he continued hurriedly, 'we'll leave them notes explaining everything in the morning, and invite them all to a party at the flat in Paris this weekend. How does that sound?'

Hermione was silent. Then she drew in a big breath, and let it go.

'Okay,' she murmured.

'Really?' Draco was very relieved. And kind of surprised.

'I've never done anything so impulsive in my life before. But… I'll be doing it with you. So, yeah. Okay.' She turned in his embrace and raised her face to meet his kiss.

He hugged her. 'Leave the details to me. Can you get your gear together in time?'

'Sure.'

'Okay. I'll come over at seven with a Portkey.'

'See you then!' Hermione skipped down the office to his door while he unlocked it. Reaching the door, she checked her blouse and patted down her hair, then opened the door and walked sedately out.

Draco sank into his chair.

* * *

 **Tuesday evening**

It was very hard for Hermione to pretend to her friends and colleagues that it was just an ordinary day, but eventually knock-off time crawled around, and she took herself off home.

There wasn't much to take except personal things, her clothes and her cats. All were neatly packed and shrunk, waiting for Draco to arrive. Except for the cats, of course. Crookshanks and Adèle sniffed their cages, already resigned to yet another jaunt to yet another destination.

At ten past seven, Hermione began to get nervous. What if he wasn't coming? Was this whirlwind romance too good to be true?

In fact, Draco was ready to Floo to her flat at seven, but he spent a good ten or so minutes alternately feeling like the biggest shit in the world and briefing Lucius on what to expect in the next day or so. Finally, he was ready.

'Good luck, son,' Lucius said solemnly, patting Draco on his shoulder.

'Thanks, Father.' Draco squared his shoulders and stepped into the Floo.

Lucius had never seen Draco look so stressed out before. He had a feeling that Narcissa was going to be bloody angry with him when it all came out.

What a time to give up smoking.

* * *

 **Tuesday evening**

 **Paris**

'Oh, it's like coming home!' Hermione stood in the centre of the flat's palatial living room, stretched out her arms, and whirled around and around until she felt quite dizzy.

Of course, for Adèle, it was home, in a way. She and Crookshanks were sniffing their way around the flat, making sure nothing had changed since their last sojourn, before heading outside and getting up to some monkey business.

Draco, stepping over trunks and bags, laughed and managed to catch Hermione before she toppled over. 'Before you render yourself entirely senseless, I need you to show me where you want your things to go.'

'Okay,' she giggled, 'Ooh, I feel almost drunk!'

'Well, how about we put this stuff away so we don't trip over them and break our necks, then we can celebrate with some champagne and get drunk for real?'

'Marvellous idea, Mr Malfoy!'

* * *

They had their champagne. Draco laid Hermione down, naked, on the master suite's bed, after first casting a water-proofing charm on it. Then he proceeded to slowly pour the champagne over her breasts, torso and navel, and drank the bubbly liquid from her body. She alternated between moaning and giggling when he discovered a ticklish spot, and he had to hold her down to stop her from writhing and splashing the champagne everywhere.

When his tongue had licked up every last drop, Hermione sat up with a gleam in her eye. This time, Draco did not have a mild panic when he watched her approach.

He probably should have, though.

Just before she took him in her mouth, she took a mouthful of champagne. Before Draco realised she wasn't going to swallow it, she sank down on his erection, and let the cool liquid fizz over his cock.

Fuck. Ing. Hell.

Gritting out an oath, Draco's hips convulsed of their own accord and his cock slid further into Hermione's mouth. Worried, he tried to pull back, move back – until Hermione clamped her hands around his wrists and made him stay still. Swallowing the champagne bit by bit, she bobbed her head up and down on him, swirling her tongue decadently.

When the champagne was gone, she released him and looked saucily at him. 'Is there a problem?'

'Uh… um… no…' he stuttered. 'Gods, that was amazing. You're amazing, Hermione.'

She smiled, and sank down on him.

* * *

 **Later**

She was curled up around him, asleep. Once again, Draco and sleep were just two ships that passed in the night.

He wanted morning to hurry up and get here.

But he still dreaded its arrival.

* * *

 **Wednesday morning**

Hermione slowly awoke, stretching like a starfish; a little surprised to find herself the only occupant of the bed. She hopped out and padded naked to the bathroom, but it, too, was empty.

She wrapped herself in a kimono dressing gown and mooched to the kitchen, yawning. There she discovered Draco.

In a suit.

Looking like death.

'Draco? What's going on?'

He leaned his hands on the kitchen bench and looked at a folder of parchments. He bit his lip, then looked at her. His eyes were red-rimmed.

'Draco? What's happened? You look like someone's died!' She placed a comforting hand on his arm, but he gently moved away.

'Hermione.' His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. 'Please believe me when I tell you how sorry I am to have to tell you that' – he swallowed – 'I'm going back to England.'

She stood there in the kitchen, in bare feet, her kimono wrapped around her, realising that something very bad was going to happen.

Draco seemed loath to continue, so she prodded him along. 'Why?' she croaked.

'Blaise's fascination with you put an important merger at risk. He was supposed to marry Pansy Parkinson as part of the deal. But when he saw you, he wanted to throw it away. So I… enticed you away from him. To save the deal.'

Hermione's face was white. She didn't dare open her mouth for fear of what might come roaring out.

'I'm sorry, Hermione,' he whispered.

She took a step back. Then another. Then she nodded. 'This was just a business transaction, then?' she said in a remarkably calm voice. 'A problem-solving strategy?'

'At the beginning – yes,' he said dully. 'I never meant – I never thought that I would come to lo- like you so very much.'

'Poor strategizing on your part, then.' Her voice was ice.

'Hermione, I'm so incredibly, fucking sorry,' he said desperately.

'Sorry?' she shrieked. 'What the hell for? You just bedded an employee, that's all. I'm the one who should be sorry. Can you possibly guess why?' she yelled in a tear-filled voice.

The urge to comfort her almost overwhelmed him. He stretched out an arm. 'Hermione' –

She wrenched away. 'This morning, I decided to work up my courage, go out on a limb and tell you that I'd fallen in love with you! I'm sorry I let you into my heart! I'm sorry I ever let you near me! I'm sorry I ever met you!' Hot, acidic tears ran down her face. Stumbling, she turned and ran from the kitchen.

Draco let out a shaky breath. He was expecting it to be bad.

He wasn't expecting to feel like he'd ripped her heart out and dashed it on the floor.

As for his own? He felt it char, and wither to dust.

* * *

He found her in the living room, curled up on one of the window seats, staring unseeing out of the window. Both cats were occupying her lap, nuzzling her with concern.

He cleared his throat softly. She gave no indication that she heard.

'I left some papers on the bench for you,' he said. 'Please don't burn them before you read them.'

She moved her head in what might have passed for a nod.

He knew it was pointless, but he still had to try. 'Hermione,' he said, 'I am so sorry I hurt you.'

'Can you please leave now?' Hermione whispered, still looking out of the window.

It was no use. 'Of course. If you need anything, anything at all' –

'Goodbye, Draco,' she said.

He nodded, defeated. 'Goodbye, Hermione.'

He activated his pre-arranged Portkey, and disappeared.

Hermione held her breath and counted to ten.

But when she exhaled, tears coursed down her face again.

She buried herself in among her cats, and sobbed for the aching loss of her first real love.

* * *

 **Wednesday morning, later**

 **MZ Enterprises**

Miss Jennings was alarmed enough to fetch Lucius.

Lucius knocked on Draco's closed office door – something he'd never done in his life – and quietly entered when he heard a mumble from inside.

Draco was sitting on a leather sofa. His suit was rumpled and his hair was in disarray. He looked like shit. Miss Jennings was right to be concerned.

Lucius sat opposite him, and accio'd some Firewhisky. 'I know it's early in the morning, but I think you could do with the medicinal effects.' He held it out to his son.

Barely looking up, Draco took the bottle with a shaking hand, opened it, and pulled steadily from it until most of it was gone.

Lucius watched the depleting level with increasing alarm. But eventually, Draco put the bottle on the coffee table and re-sealed it.

'Er… feel a bit better?' Lucius asked doubtfully.

Draco leaned back in his armchair and rubbed his hands over his face. 'I never want to do anything like that again in my life,' he said.

'She took it badly, then?'

'How the fuck did you think she would take it?' Draco snapped. Then he sighed. 'Sorry, Father.'

Lucius decided to be magnanimous and let it go. Besides, he was also the bearer of some bad news. Tell him now, or tell him later?

Lucius would have been a member of the 'rip the Band-Aid off all at once' camp, had he known what a Band-Aid was. He figured now was just as crap a time as any.

'Son,' he started carefully, 'I've heard from Blaise. He expects to resume full duties in the next day or two.'

'Good,' Draco replied dully.

'He's also informed me that he's changed his mind about Pansy Parkinson. He wants to marry her. The sooner the better.'

Lucius prepared for fireworks, but Draco didn't react. Still leaning back in his armchair, he simply said 'Why?'

Lucius rolled his eyes. 'Mutual compatibility as sexual partners.' That wasn't quite how Blaise put it. His actual words were: 'She's the best fuck I've ever had in my life, Lucius!'

Draco let that sink in. He slowly leaned forward and picked up the Firewhiskey bottle.

Then he reared up, and hurled the bottle into the fireplace.

 **Paris**

Hermione cried until her body was parched. Gently shifting the now sleeping cats, she got up and dragged herself to the kitchen to boil some tea.

She passed the sheaf of parchments Draco left on the bench. After glaring at them for some time, she approached and gingerly opened the first document.

It was the deed to the Paris flat. He had signed it over to her.

The parchment fell from her numb fingers. She opened the second one, to find that she now had a Paris goblin bank vault with a such a large sum of money in it she thought she was hallucinating all the noughts. She blinked her eyes and looked again. She wasn't.

The final piece of parchment was a letter from Draco. It was brief. He once again apologised for the hurt he had caused and the humiliation she must be feeling. While he was aware that throwing money at this sort of problem doesn't solve anything, it was basically all he knew how to do. He hoped that she would forgive him. One day.

She stood at the counter, unable to move. No matter how hard she tried.

* * *

Lucius finally got hold of his tormented, raging son and shoved him in the Floo to Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa met them in the foyer with her hands covering her mouth. She ran towards Draco.

'No, darling, he's too unstable, he could hurt you,' gritted Lucius, putting all his strength in maintaining the tight hold he had around Draco's arms and chest. 'You have to immobilise him!'

Narcissa ignored him and looked into her son's eyes. 'It will be all right, darling,' she said gently.

His struggling slowed, and stopped. 'Mother,' he croaked, defeated.

She took his hands, and he let her lead him into the parlour. When Lucius made a move to follow, she stopped him with a shake of her head. He leaned against the wall on the other side of the parlour door and closed his eyes.

Narcissa sat Draco down on a sofa, and sat down next to him. She rubbed her thumbs gently over his cold hands, leaned in and whispered 'What has made you break, darling?'

Silence.

Then her strong, beautiful, confident son broke down and cried in her arms.

* * *

 **A/N: Soreeeeeeee for the sad...**

 **There's still more to come. Until then, think happy thoughts. It will be all right in the end, promise!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews and follows and favourites! Guests: thank you very much for your reviews. Come and join our community so authors like me can thank you personally! We don't bite :)**

* * *

Slowly, painfully, Draco told his mother what he had done.

Oh, dear. Her son was a clueless idiot, sometimes.

After he lapsed into exhausted silence, she brushed his hair back from face gently. 'You love her, don't you,' she said softly.

He closed his eyes, as if he didn't want to see the answer approaching. But eventually he said 'Yes. She couldn't have been any more perfect to me.'

'Did you tell her that?'

He raised his hands, then dropped them in his lap. 'How? When? While I was breaking her heart?'

'True,' Narcissa conceded. Then she sighed. 'If you don't mind my saying, darling, what an awful mess you've got yourself into.'

Draco huffed out a tiny laugh.

'Still,' said Narcissa. 'There is one thing we can do immediately.'

Draco perked up the tiniest of fractions. 'What's that?'

She stood up and held out her hand to him. 'You are going to sleep.'

'What? Mother, I can't' –

'You can and you will,' she said firmly. 'Your mind and your body are about to crack under the enormous pressure you've put on yourself. You need rest, and I will not listen to any arguments.'

Draco caved. 'Yes, Mother,' he said, fighting off a yawn.

Narcissa opened the parlour door and led Draco out. Lucius was sprawling in a wing chair nearby. He jumped up as the door opened. ''Cissa' –

'Not a word out of you until I come find you. Understood?' snapped Narcissa in a voice made of ice.

Lucius swallowed and nodded.

Narcissa put her son to bed. She administered him a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion and sat by his side, stroking his hair until his body caved in to the rest it desperately needed.

She briefed Draco's personal house-elf to monitor his master carefully, and to inform her the moment he awakes. The house-elf bowed solemnly, distressed to see his kind master so unwell.

Narcissa instructed another house-elf to inform Lucius that she wanted to speak to him in the parlour, and sedately made her way there.

He was in attendance when she arrived, pacing by the fireplace. She closed the door gently, turned to him with her arms crossed, and said 'Lucius. Whatever you are about to say had better be phenomenally good.'

* * *

 **Sunday morning**

Hermione took a leaf out of her cats' books and spent the next few days mostly horizontal – watching trashy television or sleeping.

By the time Sunday rolled around, her physical state was in as bad a condition as her broken heart. She felt gross enough to crawl out of bed and totter unsteadily to the shower. As she rinsed the grime and grease of the last few days away, a word formed clearly in her mind.

Géraud.

* * *

Bastien groaned as an owl flapped and honked noisily outside their bedroom window. 'Can we not get any peace on a Sunday fucking morning?' he grizzled. He slipped out of bed and stomped off to not strangle it.

A letter fluttered onto Géraud's sleeping chest, and an elbow gored his ribs.

'Ow! What the hell?' muttered Géraud, opening an eye.

'You have mail. Open it,' snapped Bastien as he climbed back into bed.

Sighing, he ripped the letter open. He sat up. 'Oh, no,' he breathed.

Bastien turned over. 'What's wrong?' he asked, concerned.

Géraud handed the letter to him.

'Oh,' Bastien replied. 'We should go to her.'

'Absolutely, the poor lamb.'

* * *

Hermione tried her best to look presentable for her fashionable friends, but she was fighting a losing battle. Dark circles shaded her eyes. Her normally lustrous skin was pale and spotty. Her hair would not pass muster – it flopped sadly past her shoulders.

Géraud could not contain his horror when he and Bastien apparated in. 'Oh, my poor darling!' he cried when he caught sight of Hermione in the living room, looking lost and forlorn in her teal silk pyjamas. He rushed over to her and enveloped her in his arms. Bastien hugged her from the back.

Hermione clung to her two friends, and let the tears fall once more.

Eventually, over hot coffee and buttery croissants, Hermione got the full story out. Géraud and Bastien exchanged looks over Hermione's unhappy hair. 'You should have called us earlier, darling,' Géraud gently admonished. 'How long have you been here, suffering all by yourself?'

'Not sure,' she mumbled. 'Wednesday?'

'And when did you last eat?' Bastien asked.

Hermione fiddled with a piece of croissant. 'I… don't know. Maybe Thursday. I'm not hungry.'

'Oh, yes you are,' Bastien said firmly. 'I want you to eat half that croissant you're butchering with your fingers now, and the other half in a few hours' time. And after that coffee, you're having water.'

'Ooh,' shivered Géraud, 'I love it when gets into Healer mode.'

'Undoubtedly,' smirked Bastien. 'We wouldn't have met if you hadn't apparated while drunk and splinched yourself.'

'What?' Hermione roused herself to stare at Géraud.

Géraud waved a hand airily. 'Lost my little toe, that's all. I was in the best of hands at the hospital,' he said, winking.

'I've never yet met a patient that could scream as loud as you,' Bastien sighed.

As the couple gently bickered over her head, Hermione half-listened while nibbling on some croissant. It was possible she was starting to feel a little bit better.

She never even noticed that Géraud only had nine toes before.

* * *

 **Monday morning**

It was Draco's first day back at work since he flipped out and tried to destroy his office. Lucius had been putting in many hours at the office since then, acting on his behalf. He was also trying to get back into his wife's good books by demonstrating his sober commitment to the company, and to make Draco's return from 'leave' as painless as possible.

At Malfoy Manor, Draco checked he had his wand and briefcase while standing at the apparition point. Narcissa fussed over him motherly, straightening his tie and his jacket lapels.

'Promise me you'll come home if you feel tired,' Narcissa stated, biting her lip in worry.

Draco smiled and kissed her forehead. 'I will.'

'And you're not going to work too hard, are you? On your first day back?'

'No, Mother! And by the way, when are you going to stop giving Father the silent treatment?'

'I'm not sure,' she mused. 'I rather like the peace.'

'It wasn't his fault' –

'He knew about the plan, and had every opportunity to stop it, or at the very least, improve on it,' Narcissa said firmly. 'And he should have discussed it with me. I knew you two were up to something, but had I known it was this' –

'Okay, Mother.' He gave her a one-armed hug. 'Our next nefarious plan involving matters of the heart will be presented to you for approval first. I'll see you tonight.'

'That's all I ask,' she smiled. 'Goodbye, darling.' She stepped back as Draco disappeared.

She walked along the long corridor, thinking. She missed curling up alongside Lucius's body in bed at night. He does have his uses, she mused.

* * *

 **MZ Enterprises, Executive Floor**

Draco arrived at the apparition point in the building's lobby, and entered one of the lifts. So far, people had greeted him cheerfully and asked him how his holiday was. Father and Miss Jennings had worked damage control successfully, it would seem.

The lift spat him out onto the Executive floor, and he walked over to Miss Jennings' cavernous desk. She saw him approaching and jumped up. 'Good morning, Mr Malfoy,' she greeted. 'I trust you had a nice holiday?'

'It was exactly what I needed, Miss Jennings, thank you,' he replied.

'That's wonderful, sir. Your father has kept everything up to date as of last Friday. Here is your mail, and your meeting schedule. I'll be just five minutes with the coffee' –

'Draco! Gods, it's been an age since I last saw you!' Blaise appeared in his office doorway, his bum apparently none the worse off for its shattering experience. He strode out of his office towards Draco with his arms open wide. 'Merlin, have we got a lot to catch up on!'

Draco handed the mail and schedule back to Miss Jennings, set his briefcase down, and punched Blaise in the face.

Blaise spun around once, then hit the floor, out cold.

* * *

 **Hermione's flat, Paris**

'I'll get it, darling!' Géraud called out to Hermione. 'Judging by the banging, it's probably some philistine at the door trying to sell something dreadfully cheap and tacky. You just keep soaking your hair.'

In the kitchen, Hermione smiled as her dear friend hustled off to the front door, inasmuch as she could with her head upside down and her hair in a bowl filled with Géraud's 'secret ingredient' hair toner, mixed with distilled water and a hell of a lot of ice cubes. She could imagine her hair getting an ice cream headache.

Géraud wrenched open the front door to the flat. 'Now, listen, you' – he started, then started back in surprise. It wasn't a shady-looking urchin trying to flog plastic baubles as genuine pearl necklaces. It was a tall young lady with magnificent fiery hair, big brown eyes and cheekbones you could slice cheese on. She also happened to be unfortunately clad in an English Quidditch Club's practice gear. He could tell that no fashion designer worth their salt was involved in the consult stage of this team's uniform. He tamped down a shudder.

'Oh!' she said, also surprised, boggling at the gorgeous man who answered the door barefoot in jeans and a tailored white linen shirt. In slow, halting French she said 'I am looking for Hermione Granger. Have I got the wrong number?'

'My dear lady,' Géraud replied in English, switching from dismissal mode to flirt mode, 'you are in the right place. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Géraud Guérin, Hermione's friend.' He took her hand and kissed it. The lovely redhead turned pink.

'Omigod, you're the Count!' she exclaimed, before slapping her hands over her mouth. 'I'm sorry,' she cringed. 'It's nice to meet you. 'I'm Ginny Potter, her best friend from England. My team' – she indicated her Quidditch gear' – is playing in Paris this week, so I thought I would pay her a visit. She disappeared so suddenly, you see. We've been so worried. Took me, my husband and her friends ages just to track her here.'

'Ah yes,' Géraud said, linking arms with Ginny and steering her towards the kitchen. He lowered his voice. 'I'm afraid she is recovering from a bout of 'broken heart', and she is feeling very low.'

'What?' Ginny cried.

'Ginny?' There was an almighty splash from the kitchen. A cat yowled. Géraud cringed. Hermione appeared in the doorway to the living room, with water streaming from her hair. 'Oh, my Gods!'

'Hermione!' Ginny ran to her friend and wrapped her in a bear hug. 'Dear Gods, what happened?'

Hermione started to cry. Ginny held her friend, rubbing her back and making crooning noises, while Géraud approached from behind with a towel and started blotting Hermione's curls, tutting at frequent intervals.

* * *

 **MZ Enterprises**

Draco sighed. 'Sorry I hit you.'

Blaise waved his free hand (the other was holding an ice compress to his jaw) and mumbled 'Don't worry about it.'

They were sitting on the sofas in Draco's office. Miss Jennings, ever the professional and certainly worth her weight in Galleons, summoned the company Healer while telling the other shrieking secretaries to put a cork in it. She levitated Blaise into Draco's office and laid him out on one of the couches while simultaneously re-scheduling Draco's morning meetings and advising Blaise's simpleton secretary to do the same.

Blaise came around shortly afterwards, and the Healer determined that while Blaise's beautiful face will be a bit bruised and swollen, nothing was broken. Stick some ice on it, and she'll be right, the Healer advised before swanning off to figure out why a test batch of wizard subjects had suddenly broken out in green spots after drinking an experimental energy drink.

'She's quite a girl, Hermione,' Blaise ventured.

'Yeah,' Draco said tiredly.

'Do you love her?'

'Yeah,' Draco said tiredly.

'Well? Why so miserable?'

'Because I fucked everything up. Weren't you listening? I broke her heart and paid her off like a whore! I'm deep in the shit with her that I don't know which way's up anymore.'

Blaise shifted on the couch. 'So… you're going to give up?'

'What choice have I got?'

'You're prepared to walk away from the woman you said was the most perfect woman in the world for you? Never see her again? Forever?'

Forever. What a horrible word.

He felt his heart clutch painfully in his chest. 'I guess so.'

Blaise muttered something rude in Italian. He slowly got up, patted his friend on the shoulder, and shuffled off to his own office. He'd ask Draco to be his best man at his wedding, for the third time, another day.

* * *

 **Monday afternoon**

 **Paris, Hermione's flat**

Hermione, Ginny and Géraud sat around the breakfast bar, pushing the remains of their lunch away. Sorrel, Géraud and Bastien's house-elf, was overjoyed to come over and cook for them.

Ginny had a lot to take in. 'Malfoy,' she said slowly, drawing his name out. She nodded, having come to a decision. 'I'll kill him.'

'Oh, no, Madame Ginny,' Géraud admonished. 'That way, the punishment is over too quick. He must suffer.'

'You're right,' Ginny said, nodding thoughtfully. 'I'll castrate him instead.'

'Excellent.' Géraud smiled with approval. 'The blunter and rustier the castrating implement, the better.'

'You two,' grizzled Hermione. 'Stop plotting crimes on my behalf. The best thing that can happen is that he stays the hell away from me.'

'What will you do about this flat and the money?' Ginny asked.

'I can put the money to good use,' she replied. 'As for this place?' She looked slowly around the kitchen. 'Unfortunately, I like it. When I stop feeling like his whore, I'm sure I'll enjoy living here again.'

'Will you stay here, then?'

'Yes,' Hermione replied. 'For a while, anyway. It's not like I have a job to go back to.'

* * *

 **Friday**

 **MZ Enterprises**

 **Executive Floor**

Harry presented himself at Miss Jenning's desk exactly at the appointed hour. 'I have a meeting with Mr Malfoy Junior,' he informed her.

Miss Jennings smiled briskly. 'Please go right in, Mr Potter,' she said.

Harry opened the office door to find Draco working at his desk. 'Harry!' Draco smiled and stood up, walking around his desk to meet him. 'What brings you here?'

'I tried to get here earlier but I was in a conference all week,' Harry explained.

'No prob' -

Harry punched Draco in the face.

Draco spun around once, and hit the floor, out cold.

* * *

'I'm not apologising,' Harry said stubbornly. 'Call the Aurors and press charges. I don't care.'

Draco held an ice compress to his jaw. Miss Jennings, upon hearing the familiar sound of a co-Chief Executive being punched, sighed and contacted the company Healer again.

'I'm not going to press charges,' Draco said tiredly from his spot on the couch. 'I deserved it. I more than deserved it.'

'Ginny saw Hermione in Paris earlier this week,' Harry said, from his spot on the opposite couch. 'Hermione's distraught.'

Draco swallowed and nodded.

'Ginny told me what happened.'

Draco nodded again.

'Of all the witches in the world... why did you treat Hermione as a pawn in your quest for global business dominance? Why did you treat her like a whore when you were done with her?' Harry shook his head. 'I thought you had ethics, man.'

'I'm sorry.' Draco looked up, and Harry could see that his eyes were pink. 'I made the stupidest mistake of my entire fucking life and humiliated a brilliant and wonderful woman. If there was anything I could do to make it better for her, I would. But I just can't think of anything.'

Harry felt a little of his anger dissipate. Just a little. He stood up. 'Look, I'd better get back to work,' he said. 'It would be best if you didn't come to The Burrow for a while. You're not terribly popular there at the moment.'

Draco stood up, dropping the ice compress on the coffee table. 'Understood.' He faced Harry. 'I'm sorry for that too, for what it's worth.'

Harry nodded shortly, then left.

* * *

 **A/N: It's always hard to keep going when you have a broken heart, eh.**

 **At least Draco's feeling miserable, and he got punched. It's a shaky start on the path to redemption, but it's still a start.**

 **What will happen with Draco and Hermione next? Stay tuned!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Look at all you people favouriting, following and reviewing! Thank you very much!**

* * *

Days passed, then weeks.

Draco threw himself into work again.

Narcissa despaired of Draco.

Lucius found his way back into Narcissa's favour by providing a simple dinner for two in the Manor's gazebo, decked in hundreds of her favourite flowers and lit by fairy lights that floated in the air. It was a replica of their very first (unchaperoned) date. He also apologised and grovelled profusely.

Well. As profusely as a Malfoy could.

Pansy frantically planned the wedding.

Blaise let Pansy frantically plan the wedding and happily paid for everything without batting an eye.

Arthur dolefully reprised his role as sixth player in the Sunday three-a-side Quidditch matches, Weasley-style. Thoughts of lazing in the deckchair with the Sunday papers became the stuff of dreams.

Hermione started to sleep, eat and look healthy again. Géraud and Bastien kept her occupied with jaunts to all the hippest of Paris haunts, and conducted investigative journeys into the countryside, browsing through antique fairs and tasting wines at the local vineyards.

Géraud even curbed his temper and took her to his family's estate, where she met his parents. They seemed to think that Géraud was 'going through a phase' and they joyfully assumed that he had gotten over this silly business of being homosexual and that Hermione was his girlfriend, until they were corrected.

'I've been 'going through a phase' for thirteen years,' complained Géraud later, rolling his eyes while both lay on Hermione's bed in the estate's guest suite. 'I was expelled from school in Sixth Year for being found _in flagrante delicto_ with the Arithmancy Master.'

Hermione was impressed. 'None of our teachers were worth getting into _in flagrante delicto_ with,' she sighed.

Géraud elbowed her, smirking. 'What about the students? Were any of them worth it?'

'Thinking about it, Slytherin House had quite a few good-looking guys,' mused Hermione. 'Theo Nott was studious, and intense. Then there was Blaise, of course.'

'Of course,' nodded Géraud.

Silence.

'Was Draco good-looking in school?' he asked carefully.

'Yes. He was,' Hermione said simply.

More silence.

'But not as good as he looks today,' she finished.

Géraud linked his fingers with hers.

'He did act like a first-class douche,' said Geraud thoughtfully. 'But acting like a douche seems to be the only way he knows how to act when it comes to women. Deep down in his gorgeous blonde head, maybe he thought he was trying to soften the blow. You know, instead of implying that you were a lady with a price, so to speak.'

'I think you're right,' she said in a monotone.

Geraud subtly checked Hermione for her reaction. While she didn't sound overjoyed to talk about him, there were no tears or anger. He pulled her in close and hugged her.

* * *

'Stay out of it,' warned Bastien.

'She still loves him. I'm sure of it.'

'The twat broke her heart. She's going through the grieving process. Besides,' said Bastien, folding his arms, 'how do you know that Malfoy still wants her, let alone loves her? Maybe he's found a woman who can fellate him with the suction of a vacuum cleaner.'

Géraud gave him a cool look. 'I hardly think he'd think he'd go for someone like _that_.'

Bastien sighed. 'You're going to meddle, aren't you?'

Géraud put his gorgeous nose in the air. 'I prefer the term 'match-make.''

'Merlin preserve me,' muttered Bastien and went to their kitchen to pour a ginormous glass of wine.

* * *

 **A few days after Géraud's conversation with Bastien (let's say Wednesday)**

 **MZ Enterprises**

Miss Jennings was immune to most things, but not even she was immune to the charms of the most beautiful man she had ever seen, emerging from the lifts and striding towards her desk with purpose – and carrying her favourite flowers.

'M-may I help you, sir?' she breathed while all the other secretaries stared at him with their mouths open.

'Ah, my dear! You must be Mademoiselle Jennings. I have heard much about you from my very good friend Draco.' He gently took her hand and kissed it. 'But, of course, his description of you does not begin to do you justice. I am Monsieur le comte (he repressed a shudder from using that term) Géraud Guérin.'

Miss Jennings blushed. 'A pleasure, Monsieur.'

'I hope you will forgive me for taking the liberty of presenting you with these blooms, my dear young lady.' Géraud smiled, laying it on thick.

'O-of course. Thank you! They're lovely. How may I help you, Monsieur?'

'Well' – Géraud leaned over her desk a little, and she caught a whiff of his delectable scent – 'I had hoped to surprise Draco and maybe take him out for lunch. We haven't seen in each other in at least a year…'

Dimly, Miss Jennings remembered her duties. 'I – have you – do you – have an appointment?' she stammered.

Géraud shook his head regretfully. 'I wanted it to be a surprise.'

Her face fell. 'Oh, but' –

'Is he in a meeting presently?'

'Well, no' –

'I tell you what,' winked Géraud. 'If you let me in to his office, I will take full responsibility for the fact that I did not call ahead and make an appointment. Scout's honour.'

Miss Jennings caved. 'All right,' she smiled.

Géraud kissed her hand again. 'You are a gem among women,' he vowed, then sashayed off to Draco's office.

Miss Jennings collapsed back onto her chair, overcome.

* * *

'Fuck!'

Géraud closed Draco's office door. 'That's a fine way to greet me, old friend,' he remarked.

Draco got up from his desk and met Géraud in the middle of his office. 'Sorry. I was surprised.'

'Good! Mission accomplished.'

Géraud and Draco embraced and kissed in the French manner. Just before Draco pulled away, Géraud put a hand behind Draco's head and moved his own head closer so their lips almost met. Eyes dancing, he whispered 'Still straight?'

Draco laughed. 'Still gay?'

Géraud smiled enigmatically and let him go.

Sitting on the sofas, Draco asked 'How's Bastien?'

'Ah _oui_ , as beautiful and irascible as ever. He would send his love, but he's not very happy with you right now.'

'Is he still sore because I turned down his invitation of a threesome with you?'

'Darling, _I'm_ still sore with you about that. No, he's not happy because of Hermione. And, to be honest, neither am I.'

Draco sat back in his sofa and looked out of the window. 'Oh. You're friends.'

'We are. Close friends.'

After a long silence, Draco asked in a low voice: 'Is she all right?'

'Physically, she is better. She was in an utter state after you left. Bastien was a great help with her recovery. Now – she no longer cries when your name is mentioned. But we take care not to mention it too often.'

Draco swallowed; then sighed. 'Merlin, I fucked things up.'

'You know,' Géraud said thoughtfully, 'Bastien and I wondered if you were gay because of your appalling track record with women. You hid behind your work if things got too intense. Left them wondering what the hell just happened. Any half-qualified Mind Healer would tell you it's classic avoidance behaviour.'

Draco leaned forward and pulled a platinum case out of his pocket. He withdrew a cigarette and lit it.

Géraud observed this with a raised eyebrow. 'When did you start smoking?'

Draco dragged on his cigarette. 'Sometime after I broke Hermione's heart and became the biggest shit on the planet.'

Géraud coughed lightly as smoky fingers unfurled towards him. 'I fail to see the link.'

'I'm not sleeping much. Or eating much. I've got a lot to do.'

'If Bastien were here, he would tell you that the cigarettes make things worse, long-term.'

Draco bared his teeth. 'They do a fucking awesome job in the short-term.'

'Enough changing the subject. Why are you such a douche with women?'

Draco stubbed the cigarette out. 'My brain is wired for business. Profits, losses, balance sheets and annual reports. They're quantifiable. Black and white. With a stroke of my quill buildings go up and jobs are created. I know the risks and take calculated ones.' He stopped, tumbling the platinum cigarette case over his fingers.

'Ah. I think I understand,' said Géraud. 'Whereas women require instinct and intuition to fathom out. They're not quantifiable at all, the same rules never apply twice, and with Hermione, you took a big risk – and cocked it up exponentially.'

'My instinct was to make her financially comfortable to do whatever she wanted to do in her life. Anything at all. But apparently what I did was pay her for services rendered.' Draco slumped into the sofa. 'This is why women and I do not mix.'

Géraud got up and set next to Draco. 'Do you think Bastien and I are a successful couple?'

Draco thought. 'You argue all the time.'

'We've also been together for a long time. How come?'

Draco shrugged.

'We communicate. Sometimes it's with arguments. Sometimes it's with fights. Sometimes we're so close we don't need to say words at all. We know what each is thinking. If we don't, we talk to the other to find out what we need to know. Now, I'm not saying it's easy. Sometimes people don't want to talk, or can't express themselves very well. But maybe – just maybe – if you had talked to Hermione, told her that initially you were with her to distract her from Blaise but you fell in love with her along the way, what do you think she would have said?'

Draco looked sideways at Géraud. 'She would have chopped my cock off.'

Géraud laughed. 'She wouldn't have been happy, of course. She probably would have lost her temper and yelled at you for a bit. But I think that after the dust settled, she would have forgiven you. Because she loved you.'

Draco sighed. 'Can I put you on retainer as my personal relationship advisor?'

Géraud laughed again. 'Darling, you couldn't afford me. But while I'm here, I have some very important questions to ask you. One: on the day you left her, did you love her?'

Draco pulled another cigarette out of his case. 'Yes.'

Géraud pinched the cigarette off him. 'Two: do you love her still?'

Draco glared in the direction of where his cigarette went to, and opened the case again. 'More than ever.'

Géraud whipped the cigarette case away. 'Three: if I could convince you that winning Hermione back may not be the impossible dream you think it is, would you try?'

'Give me back my cigarettes.'

'Stop being a baby.'

'Yes! All right?' Draco threw his hands in the air, frustrated. 'I can't go on like this. I crave her. I want her. I love her. Are you satisfied?'

Géraud lit up the cigarette and tossed the case back to Draco. He took a satisfying drag. 'Good to know.' He stood up and held his hand out to Draco. 'Come on. Let's go and get shit-faced.'

* * *

 **Friday**

 **Paris**

Hermione and Géraud were watching a Top Gun/An Officer and a Gentleman marathon in Hermione's flat. Bastien had the night off from the hospital, but when he found out what the evening's entertainment was going to be, said he'd rather stay home and give himself a home-made lobotomy. It would be quicker and achieve much the same result.

In true Géraud style, the marathon was accompanied by Veuve Clicquot and an assortment of fresh fruit, exotic nuts and decadent chocolates. Hermione sighed in contentment. Géraud sure knew how to keep a girl happy.

'Well, my dear, in the case of 'Who Wore It Better?' I firmly support Richard Gere,' Géraud stated firmly as the final credits rolled.

Hermione snorted. 'Utterly ridiculous. Tom Cruise owned that Navy uniform.'

'Are you sure he was tall enough to enlist in the US Navy? Don't they have height restrictions?'

'Who knows? Besides, if the pilots are smaller, they can fit into the planes easier.'

'Hmph. We'll have to agree to disagree. How about 'Best Arse?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Gere,' she mumbled.

Géraud smirked.

They bickered happily among each other while Géraud poured out the last of the champagne.

'I would like to propose a toast,' Géraud announced grandly. Hermione got her glass ready. 'To smiles. Your smile, in particular, which I have seen more and more of, recently.'

Hermione blushed. 'To smiles,' she echoed. They drank.

Hermione put her glass on the coffee table and sank back on the sofa. Turning her head, she watched Géraud play with his glass, twirling the narrow stem this way and that. He looked distracted.

'What's wrong?' she asked, feeling that the mood of the room had changed and she missed it.

Géraud put his glass on the coffee table and ran a hand distractedly through his hair – an unforgivable sin as far as he was concerned.

Hermione scooted closer. 'Géraud?'

He looked up, and her breath was taken away by the look of intensity in his eyes. Having spent so much time around him, she often took his beautiful appearance for granted. Except in cases like this - and she felt arousal stab through her body.

'Hermione,' he said softly. 'You are very special to me.'

'And you are to me.'

'I know I spend a lot of time horsing around with you, playing the role of best gay buddy. But… we both know I'm not gay.'

Hermione nodded slowly.

'Bastien, for all his grumpy ways, loves you too. As a friend… and maybe as something more.'

Hermione's eyes were wide. Bastien was a beautiful man. Fiercely intelligent with a dry, cynical wit. They got on very well. Between him and Géraud, they provided all the intellectual stimulation she craved, as well as the frivolity and fun she never previously had time for.

'What are you saying?' she whispered.

'I would like to know if you would… perhaps one day… consider the possibility of being in a relationship with us?'

Hermione was dumbfounded.

He smiled. 'It's a lot to take in,' he agreed. 'There's no pressure on you to decide now, or ever. If you would prefer not to be with us that way, we'll still love you.'

Tears pricked at Hermione's eyes; then they fell.

Géraud drew Hermione into his embrace. 'Now, don't you dare cry about us,' he admonished. 'Paris is about to run out of cucumbers to slice and put over your eyes.'

Her tears turned to laughter. She snuggled in to him, breathing his addictive scent. The same one that Draco wore. But Géraud wore it first, as far as she was concerned.

'Hermione.' A whisper.

'Yes?'

'I would very much like to make love to you.' Said in a voice so low Hermione felt the words as a breath over her body.

She thought back to the night where he took her virginity so delicately, so intensely. He reacted to her clumsy ministrations with sensitivity. Every touch set her body on fire.

She slowly sat up and looked him in the eye. Then she lowered her head and gave him her kiss.

* * *

 **A/N: What on _earth_ is Géraud up to? Stay tuned!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: What will Hermione do? Read on!**

* * *

In her bedroom, Géraud set Hermione's body on fire with his mouth, his tongue. He made her feel like they were the only people left in the world. She was ravenous for his touch.

Lucius's words from her strange not-quite-dream-not-quite-reality masturbation popped into her head.

Her mouth engaged before her brain. 'Géraud…' she began, then mentally kicked herself for probably ruining the moment.

He smiled into her neck, stopped kissing her and looked at her indulgently. 'You have a question, _oui_?' His hands settled around her waist.

She went a little pink. In for a penny and all that. 'Do you sleep with women often?'

He raised a beautiful eyebrow. 'A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell.'

Hermione went pinker. 'Of course.'

He laughed. 'And best buddies don't have secrets.' He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. 'I naturally gravitate towards men. I rarely sleep with women. Before you, the last time I made love to a woman was' – he paused and thought – 'four or five years ago. She had an aura that attracted me to her body as well her many other qualities.' He looked at Hermione with his beautiful blue gaze. 'As do you.'

'It almost sounds like you sleep with women despite yourself.'

He grinned.' I'm open-minded.'

That conversation didn't prove anything about Lucius, though. Did it? Gods. Hermione shoved Lucius out her mind and concerned herself with unbuttoning Géraud's shirt.

* * *

Oh Merlin, the taste of his skin.

They were on the bed, partly clothed. She straddled him in her bra and jeans, trailing her lips and tongue down his sternum. If she moved against his erection, still concealed beneath his khakis, he hissed an exclamation in French under his breath but let her be.

A scent can be so evocative. She closed her eyes and memories of her last time with him came flooding back. First kiss – how he traced his fingers along her face before slowly lowering his head to hers. The slow, agonisingly slow way that he removed her dress, tasting her skin as it was revealed.

The intensity of their connection.

His breathtaking eyes, never moving from hers as he joined their bodies together.

She exhaled a ragged breath of raw need.

She had to have him. Inside her. Around her. His fingers tracing lines of desire on her skin.

Whispering 'love.' Because he meant it.

Oh, Gods…

She wanted Draco.

* * *

Hermione stopped. Opened her eyes. Looked at Géraud in painful realisation.

'I still love Draco,' she whispered.

Géraud breathed out slowly. Then he drew himself up (magnificent abs, she thought distractedly – again) and drew her into his arms. He held her tight.

'I know, chérie,' he whispered.

Her body shook with silent sobs.

* * *

 **Later that night**

Géraud apparated into his apartment. Contrary to Bastien's former statement, he was not performing an at-home lobotomy, but reading a Muggle medical journal.

Bastien didn't look up. 'How did it go?'

Géraud walked to their bedroom in silence. A few minutes later, the shower sounded.

Bastien let his breath out uneasily. He would give Géraud ten minutes.

* * *

Bastien entered the bathroom and leaned against the wall adjoining the shower. Géraud leant against the tiles, his head down. He didn't move. Water coursed over his head and sculpted body.

 _'Mon cher,'_ Bastien whispered.

No response.

Bastien exhaled gently. 'She still loves him, _oui_?'

With effort, Géraud pulled his head up and ran his hands through his hair, squeezing out the excess water. Although his face was wet from the shower, Bastien knew that his tears mingled with the water.

Bastien stripped off his clothes and entered the shower. He slowly brushed his fingers against Géraud's chest until he reached his shoulder, then drew him into a tight embrace.

Eventually, Géraud's arms formed themselves around Bastien's body.

* * *

Sometime later, the couple lay in bed facing each other.

'I still have no idea how I let it get to this point,' murmured Géraud.

Bastien shrugged a shoulder. 'She's easy to love.'

'True. I'm glad for her and Draco. I truly believe they're meant to be together. Yet at the same time, I could cheerfully push him off a cliff.'

Bastien smiled, then sobered. 'Her happiness is paramount.'

Géraud nodded. 'Any ideas on how to reunite two of the most stubborn people in the wizarding world?'

Bastien's eyes glittered. 'Not tonight, I don't,' he murmured. He captured Géraud's face with his hand and gently kissed him.

Géraud kissed him back with intensity. 'Good. Because I need you,' he said simply.

Bastien rolled over and settled between Géraud's legs. 'You will always have me,' he replied.

* * *

 **Saturday evening**

Narcissa was changing for dinner when a lovely cape eagle-owl tapped politely at her balcony door. She gave the owl a treat and opened the letter.

' _Ma ch_ _è_ _re_ Narcissa,' it began.

Narcissa's beautiful lips curved into a smile.

She went to her escritoire and commenced a letter to Pansy.

* * *

 **Monday**

'You're sure, then? Blaise asked.

'Yes, for Merlin's sodding sake! Why do you keep asking me?' Draco's attempt to drink his first coffee of the day in peace appeared to be heading towards the shitter.

Blaise looked at him soberly. 'Because you've been through a lot, you look like death warmed up and the last thing I want to do is put more pressure on you.'

Draco looked at his coffee cup, then set it on his desk.

'Look, you've got to do something, mate,' Blaise said. 'Surely there must be something you can do to win Hermione back. You obviously can't function without her.'

Draco faced Blaise and smiled. 'Yes.'

'Huh?'

'Yes. Mother and I are working on a plan to get Hermione back; and I am more than happy to be your best man for your third wedding, for the third time.'

'Well, great!' Blaise said. 'I'm glad you'll be my best man. I can't imagine ever getting married without you, in fact.'

Draco started laughing.

'But I'm not sure how I feel about another plan being formed. Haven't you learned your lesson from the last one?'

Draco lit up a cigarette. 'Oh, I have,' he affirmed. 'I learned that any plan involving a woman is doomed to failure unless a woman is involved in the plan. Hence Mother.'

Blaise rolled his eyes and headed for Draco's office door. 'I'm going to tell Narcissa that you're smoking.'

'No, don't tell her!' Draco called.

The door closed.

'Blaise? Blaise?'

* * *

 **Paris**

 **A week or so later**

'Goodness,' said Hermione when Géraud dropped a beautifully-decorated magical parchment on her kitchen bench.

Géraud had come to terms with the fact that Hermione was meant for another, equally beautiful, if more conventional, (and therefore more boring) man. A man he admired very much, even if he's not open to same-sex threesomes and has funny ideas on how to treat women. Life was too short to mourn what he really never had, and he counted himself thankful that he had Hermione's love, trust and friendship, and that their recent entanglement was quickly consigned to history.

Hermione was relieved that she hadn't frightened him away. Acting in the height of emotion and repenting in sober daylight, she discovered, is a thankless chore that leaves her lonely and aching. Draco was too precious a friend to send away.

Wait up -

Géraud was too precious a friend to send away.

Fuck it.

So was Draco.

'What is it?' Hermione asked, catapulting herself back into reality.

'It's an invitation to Blaise Zabini's and Pansy Parkinson's wedding!' Géraud announced grandly.

'That's nice,' Hermione said as she finished her coffee.

'Too right,' said Géraud. 'Bastien's on call that weekend, of course, so I need you to be my plus one.'

'Oh.' Hermione looked around for something to clean. 'I'm not sure if I' –

Géraud snorted. 'Was not your school House famous for its courage?'

'Yes, but what does that have to do with'-

'Let me see,' Géraud interrupted. 'Maybe it has something to do with a certain blonde co-Chief Executive who's bound to be attending the wedding? A certain blonde that you're too afraid to see in the flesh?'

Hermione's cheeks heated. 'I am not afraid!' she said hotly.

'Good!' Géraud dusted his hands and hopped off his stool. 'Then it's settled.'

'Hey! Hang on a minute!'

Géraud, already halfway to the front door, turned around. 'There's no time to waste, my dear! We must go shopping!'

Hermione smiled, despite her annoyance at being finagled. 'The wedding's two weeks away.'

'Exactly! Do you think haute couture sews itself? Well, actually, it does, but there are so many other things to do and find and wear! Come on!'

Laughing, Hermione gabbed her bag and followed in Géraud's wake.

* * *

 **The wedding day**

 **Malfoy Manor**

Another of Blaise's wedding traditions also seemed to be hosting them at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa didn't mind in the slightest; Lucius wondered when he acquired a second son.

Blaise's mother's contributions to his weddings was to waft in to the venue fashionably late (i.e. halfway through the ceremony) with her latest husband, get quickly drunk at the main table, and appropriate one of the Manor's many bedrooms to 'lie down for a spell', which in fact meant 'shag her latest husband to within an inch of his life.'

After Blaise's first wedding, when a house-elf found Blaise's mother and husband number four going at it like Italian rabbits on her and Lucius's bed, she made sure that certain rooms were kept locked for the duration of the proceedings.

Luckily, the only thing Blaise seems to have inherited from his mother was her tendency to over-marry. However, Blaise was determined to stop at three times. His mother was on her eighth or ninth.

Blaise and Pansy's ceremony was to be attended by Muggles and Wizards; which meant that house-elves were not allowed to be present in public. When Ron saw the memo asking for volunteers for the Zabini-Parkinson wedding, he got so carried away with signing himself up that he also signed up Harry, Neville, Fred, George, Ginny and Luna, despite two thirds of the party not being employees of MZ Enterprises.

Luckily, only Harry was irate at Ron's press-ganging. The twins had heard tales of mythical proportions from Ron about the mountains of delicious food and wanted to see for themselves. Ginny was keen to see all the fashionable dresses, and knowing how hard Ron worked, figured that the job wouldn't exactly be taxing. Luna was happy to spend some time with Neville.

Harry snuck a look at Luna while everyone was tying on their aprons in one of the spare rooms by the enormous kitchen. 'Are you sure she's not going to turn all the floral centrepieces into butterflies or something?' he asked Neville.

Neville looked doubtful. 'I made sure she left her wand at home. How much damage can she cause without a wand?'

'You tell me. What if she ends up discussing Nargles with a Muggle? Or with a witch or wizard, for that matter?'

'I'll keep her behind the bar with me. That should limit conversation.'

Harry patted him on the back. 'You're a brave man, Neville.'

'Not really,' Neville grinned. 'You have no idea how flexible she is in bed. There's not a lot I won't do for that. I mean - her.'

Harry banged his head against a wall a couple of times to rid himself of that image.

The twins were tuxedo'ed up to the gills and acting as ushers. Once Narcissa clapped eyes on them earlier in the morning, she had visions of the identical twosome lending classical symmetry to the wedding venue. They were already outside, escorting the guests to their precarious chairs down by the lake, where the ceremony was to be performed.

Fred dashed into the dressing room. 'You'll never guess who's turned up!' he crowed.

'Leonardo di Caprio?' Ginny asked hopefully.

Fred glowered. 'Even if I knew who he was, I wouldn't recognise him,' he said scathingly. 'Hermione's here! She's with one of the guests! Some French ponce.'

Ginny shrieked. 'Really? What's she wearing?'

Fred thought. 'A dress.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Merlin, you're pathetic.'

'A pleasure, as always,' Fred quipped. 'I've got to get back. See you losers later.'

'I bet she looks wonderful,' said Luna.

'Of course she will. We'll see her later, love, don't worry,' Harry said comfortingly.

Ginny sulked. 'I should have been an usher.'

* * *

It was a beautiful Spring day at Malfoy Manor, of course. Not even the weather would dare risk the wrath of the Malfoy family on such a day as this.

Blaise's last two weddings were inside the Malfoy's ballroom, so instead of making it a trifecta, he was more than happy to go with Pansy's suggestion of a ceremony down by the lake. Rows and rows of delicate chairs in gold and white were lined up on the grass before the small wharf, which stood out over an azure lake with not a single ripple showing.

Hermione and Geraud made their way to their chairs, ushered by a grinning George who kissed Hermione firmly on each cheek before nodding semi-politely to her companion. Géraud rolled his eyes, but Hermione looked back and giggled when she saw Professor Sprout step up to George, thoroughly expecting to be kissed, too.

'The last time I was here,' Hermione said to Géraud, I was sitting on the beach, crying my heart out because Blaise had found himself yet another woman. Draco found me, set me up with the job in Paris and the apartment. If it weren't for him, I would never have met you.' She leaned against his shoulder.

'We two have a lot to thank Draco for, don't we?' he murmured. 'Try not to crush your dress, darling.'

Hermione laughed. She looked stunning in a white dress with a pencil skirt and fitted top with only the suggestions of sleeves. The back was backless to just a few centimetres above the waist. The dress was sparingly decorated in splashes of blue colour shaped like roses; and exactly matched the small blue sash at her tiny waist. She still refused the fascinator, though. Géraud threw a tantrum of epic proportions, but admitted that her hair, pulled back in a low bun with gentle curls pulling free over her shoulder, looked quintessentially Hermione.

Beside him, Hermione stiffened. He looked up from the wedding programme and saw Blaise, Draco and a man Hermione said was Theo Nott step up to the platform where the ceremony was to be conducted.

Blaise and Draco sure know how to work a suit, thought Géraud with approval. Even in their current states. Blaise looked nervous as hell, checking his watch frequently and looking like he was expecting one of Pansy's wedding party to come tip-toeing down the grass aisle to tell him that Pansy had come to her senses and had sodded off.

Draco tried to calm to his friend with some jokes and claps on the shoulder, but Géraud was saddened to see how gaunt and hollow Draco looked. He heard a small gasp of dismay from Hermione. She had seen it, too.

She gripped his hand.

As it turned out, Blaise had nothing to worry about. His third bride appeared on the arm of her beaming father, and slowly walked the gentle slope of the aisle to the platform, where an extraordinarily happy Blaise and Muggle official waited. (A wizard ceremony would be conducted at a later time when there were no Muggle guests).

Pansy put the sun to shame with her radiance. She wore a dark green strapless gown with a full skirt, cricular train and silver filigree embroidery detail around the edge. Over the top she wore a white strapless gown that was smaller than the one beneath, so the beautiful colour showed through. Her two bridesmaids, Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bulstrode, wore beautiful A-line off-the-shoulder chiffon dresses in light green – not too dissimilar from Hermione's own dress when she attended the Malfoy party all those months ago. She glanced at Géraud, whose lips were pursed in thought while he studied the dresses. She recognised his influence on the bridal gowns.

'Pansy's dress is the most beautiful I've ever seen,' she whispered.

He smiled and bent down to her ear. 'I have a much better one in mind for you, my dove,' he whispered.

She glanced at Draco and turned bright red.

* * *

Draco saw her, of course. Even while he was trying to prevent Blaise from launching into a full-blown panic attack, his eyes landed naturally on the two most beautiful people in attendance – the tall man with golden hair, impeccably dressed in off-white linen, and the stunning woman by his side, in a blue and white dress that draped her figure beautifully.

He caught Géraud's eyes. _Thanks._

Géraud winked. _You're welcome._

It was up to him not to fuck the plan up.

* * *

 **Crunch time next chapter, I think! Thank you all for reading xx**


	23. Chapter 23

The ceremony was picture-perfect. The bridal party looked beautiful, outlined against the azure blue of the lake. When Blaise and Pansy exchanged their vows, more than one handkerchief was withdrawn from a sleeve or handbag. Fred and George, way up the back and out of eyeshot, smirked at each other and pretended to stick their fingers down their throats.

It was not necessary for Hermione to withdraw a handkerchief from her person. Partly because Géraud was never without one. And partly because while she was listening to the beautiful words being spoken, she was staring at the Best Man.

As if he knew, Draco angled his head slightly and looked straight at her. Rather like a deer caught in headlights, she couldn't make herself look away.

His silver eyes held light and life, despite his sallow skin and hair that lacked its normal lustre. His collarbones showed through his open-necked shirt.

She bit her lip, then opened her mouth slightly. 'I'm sorry,' she mouthed. Not caring if anyone was watching.

He saw. He briefly smiled and shook his head infinitesimally. _No need._

She tried to smile back, but a tear rolled down her cheek instead.

Géraud silently passed his handkerchief over.

* * *

Blaise and Pansy had just exchanged rings, and were looking into each other's eyes while the celebrant brought the proceedings to a close.

This was the celebrant's favourite part, and he liked to puff himself up and accumulate a dramatic pause before saying the final words. When he considered the atmosphere to be suitably electric, he gestured grandly to the nearly-married couple, opened his mouth and said –

'Terribly sorry, Blaise, darling! I forgot all about the time zone difference between Italy and England again! Hope I'm not too late!'

A strident female with an Italian accent burst upon the scene. A vision in a lurid animal print spandex dress where the hem was determined to meet the neckline, she tottered on towering platform heels along the grass, towing a swarthy gentleman in a blue seersucker suit.

The ushers watched the plump, spandexed matron wobble past with their jaws on the ground. Recovering quickly, Fred and George snapped to it and escorted Mrs uh… Blaise's mum and his eighth or ninth stepdad to their seats – which, of course, were right at the front.

Mrs uh… Blaise's mum beamed from ear to ear under her towering hat of many feathers as she waltzed down the aisle. Positioning her comfortable derrière on a spindly chair, she waved to her son and blew a kiss.

Her son's face was dark red from shame and his wand hand clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Pansy smiled at her almost-husband and pressed his offended hand gently. He looked at her with gratitude, and felt much better.

Theo, Draco and Lucius studied their shoes and tried to think of something to prevent them from sniggering like school kids.

Narcissa, ever the doyenne of grace, nodded regally at the frightful woman and returned her attention to the ceremony.

Géraud whipped out his sunglasses and crammed them on before any permanent damage to his retinas set in. A naughty giggle escaped Hermione's lips, but she had Géraud's handkerchief to smother it with.

And as for the most important person - who, according to the celebrant, was himself – he glared daggers at the mutton dressed as a lamb in leopard-skin clothing as she made her way to her seat.

Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. He cleared his throat pointedly, gestured to the bride and groom and said in his grandest voice: 'By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss each other.'

He stepped back as the beautiful couple looked shyly at each other. The bride lifted her head, and the tall groom bent to her and placed the sweetest, most tender kiss on her lips.

The wedding party and guests burst into applause. The two ushers let off ear-splitting wolf whistles that nearly gave the ancient Board members of MZ Enterprises a collective heart attack, and followed up with enthusiastic woo-hoos and clapping.

Honestly, sighed Narcissa to herself while she kissed the bride and groom. It is so hard to get good human help these days.

* * *

The bridal party posed in various locations around Malfoy Manor for photographs, while the guests sipped champagne, nibbled nibbles and played civilised games of petanque on the Manor's magnificent lawn (temporarily cleared of peacocks). Blaise snuck in a wizard photographer to take photos alongside the Muggle photographer, so they would have some wizarding memories to cherish of their Muggle ceremony.

Fred and George quickly changed out of their tuxedos and into serving attire. Narcissa said they didn't have to help, in fact, she insisted, but they were just as insistent that they wanted to serve as waiters. Not wanting a scene, she gave in, and prayed that they were capable of carrying a tray of canapes around without said canapes ending up in someone's décolletage.

The bar staff poured out what seemed like an Olympic swimming pool's-worth of champagne and sat the filled glasses proudly on an endless heap of silver platters. Within minutes, their efforts had been guzzled, and the staff, including Neville and Luna, were quickly sucked into a never-ending vortex of bottle-uncorking and glass-filling.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and the twins mingled among the hoi polloi, proffering platters of delicious finger food. For some reason, Ron and the twins kept running out of food, and had to make constant trips back to the kitchen.

Ginny kept an eagle eye out for Hermione, and she was soon rewarded. Abandoning the lecherous old geezer who kept wanting to dip his 'mini spring roll' into her 'sauce', she galloped around the crowd, shrieking Hermione's name and giving her a one-armed hug on arrival.

'Omigod, you look absolutely sensational! So cool and fresh,' she marvelled, ogling Hermione's dress. 'Géraud, you are a genius.'

Géraud grinned behind his sunglasses. They weren't coming off until Blaise's mum had disappeared. 'Thank you, my Titian beauty. As for you, you tempt me into staging a comeback for androgyny.'

Ginny's cheeks turned pink. 'Aw, you,' she giggled.

'Is everyone here?' Hermione asked. 'I've seen – and heard – the twins already.'

'Pretty much,' Ginny replied. 'Ron got carried away with signing up for the event and stuck all of us down. Who knows how we're getting paid?'

Hermione grinned at Géraud. 'We'll have to go for a stroll so I can introduce you to my friends.'

'Absolutely,' he smiled. 'Only, please keep me away from that spandex dress, otherwise I shall not be responsible for my actions.'

'He's suffering,' whispered Hermione to Ginny.

'We're all suffering,' sighed Ginny. 'Poor Blaise. Oh, well. These mini spring rolls won't eat themselves.' She glanced at her platter. It was bare. 'Shit! How did that happen?'

She looked down, and discovered a plump little boy, shoe-horned into a light blue tuxedo, cramming the last of a vast number of spring rolls into his chubby mouth. He grinned up at her.

'Who are you?' she demanded.

'Wilbur Goyle,' he said, bits of pastry fleeing from his maw.

'Ah,' smiled Ginny. A glint formed in her eye. 'Would you like some more?'

His eyes lit up. 'Yesh pleashe!' he said.

'And a soda to wash it down?'

He nodded with great vigour.

'Coming right up, young sir!' Ginny flounced off.

Hermione looked at little Wilbur, then at Géraud. 'What's she planning?' she asked uneasily.

Géraud snorted. 'Whatever it is, I and my linen suit plan to be very far away when it happens.'

* * *

Harry stepped out of the kitchen door to chug a bottle of water and cool down.

'Hey.'

Harry whirled around, and saw Draco leaning against the wall around a corner, smoking a cigarette.

'Oh. Hey.'

'The photographs are done. Pansy's getting changed into her reception dress, then it's the wedding feast.'

Harry knew. The house-elves (permitted in the kitchen as no guests would go there) were clearing the kitchen of the canapes and getting the entrées and main courses ready.

Harry drank, and Draco smoked in silence.

Crumpling up his empty bottle, Harry said 'Um… see ya,' and turned to go back inside.

'Wait.'

Harry did.

Draco stubbed out his cigarette and blew the last of the smoke away. 'Potter. Harry. I need you to forgive me for treating Hermione so poorly.'

Harry looked at him. Draco looked like crap. This whole deal was obviously taking its toll on him. Still… 'I'll forgive you if you atone for your actions.'

Draco's silver eyes focussed on him. 'If I make things better for her, will you and your friends forgive me?'

'Why do you need our forgiveness?'

'Because I love her. I want to be with her. And you're her family. If she still loves me, I don't want to be the cause of a rift.'

Harry jutted out his chin. 'If she still loves you.'

Draco looked at his hands. 'Yeah. I don't know if she does. But I want to try for her again.'

Harry let out a breath. 'Okay. _If_ she genuinely loves you, mind.'

Draco smiled in relief. 'Of course.'

He turned away, but stopped when Harry said 'Malfoy.'

'Yeah?'

'Good luck.'

* * *

'Mr Malfoy!'

'Hello, my dear,' drawled Lucius, as he walked up to Hermione and Géraud. He took her hand and kissed it, his silver eyes locking on hers. 'And Monsieur Guérin,' he said, nodding genially enough to Géraud. 'How lovely of you to come.'

Géraud bared his teeth civilly. 'It was an honour to be invited. The bride could not have worn my design with any more class or panache.'

Lucius was still looking at Hermione. 'And of course, I detect your influence in this ravishing dress that Miss Granger is wearing.'

Hermione went beet red.

'What can I say? She is a joy to style. As, of course, is your dear wife.'

Lucius's eyes narrowed a fraction.

Hermione, watching the testosterone being flung around, girded up her loins and said 'Géraud, would you mind if I have a quick word with Mr Malfoy? In private?'

He smiled lazily. 'Of course, not, darling.' With a nod to Lucius, he wandered off to observe a petanque game.

Lucius turned to her, smirking. 'Well, my dear? What did you wish to discuss with me?' His voice lowered. 'In private?'

Oh, damn it. There goes another pair of dry panties.

She looked him straight in his eyes. 'Lucius,' she started bravely. 'Do you practice Legilimency? Yes or no.'

If Lucius was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. 'What an intriguing question.'

'Please answer the question, Mr Malfoy,' she said firmly.

'All right, then.' Lucius stepped a little closer to her, so that his lips were by her ear. 'I know how to practice it.'

She didn't move away. 'Have you used it on me?' she breathed.

There was a short silence. 'Legilimency is a restricted magical practice. I know you are aware of this, my dear.'

A vision of playing chess with this mercurial man entered her head. Playing him would be ruddy suicide.

'There is something else you want to ask me.' Reading her mind again.

She closed her eyes. 'Yes,' she whispered.

'Well, then. Perhaps you should simply ask.'

She opened her eyes, and found his intent gaze on her. 'Just ask?' she quavered.

He quirked his lip. 'Just ask.'

Hermione took a deep breath, then let it go. Squaring her shoulders, despite the heat building in her cheeks, she asked 'Did you use an augmented form of Legilimency to plant a fantasy in my head involving you telling me how to touch myself until I came?'

His eyes flashed silver fire.

She waited, hardly daring to breathe.

He hooked a loose curl with his finger and tugged it gently. In a low voice, he said 'I'm honoured that you think I have the ability to perform such complicated magic, should it even exist.'

He laid his lips gently against her cheek, and walked away.

Hermione stared after him, aghast.

* * *

 **A/N: What a ratbag Lucius is! And why is Ginny feeding up a mini-Goyle?**

 **Apologies, I thought this would be my crunch chapter, but it didn't want to be. But hold on, good people: the final chapter is next!**


	24. Chapter 24

The wedding feast was in progress.

Hermione and Géraud found themselves in the ball room, sitting at a table with a couple of doddery Board members and their equally doddery wives. The men refused to meet Hermione's eyes, which Géraud found amusing. Also at the table, thankfully, was Oliver Wood, one of Ron's treasured sports clients, and his pretty wife, who was in Gryffindor behind Hermione at Hogwarts.

Ginny was a server for their table. Luna was assigned to them as their drinks waiter.

'Gin,' asked Hermione quietly as the redhead placed bread rolls on their side plates, 'why are you fattening up the poor little Goyle boy?'

A mysterious smile appeared on Ginny's lips. 'All will be revealed,' she said knowingly.

Géraud grabbed her sleeve. 'Not on my linen suit, please.'

Luna finished filling the water glasses. 'If I didn't know better,' she said slowly, 'I would say Ginny is suffering from a touch of- '

'No!' squealed Hermione. The rest of the table looked at her oddly.

-'the sun,' Luna finished uncertainly.

'Oh! Of course,' Hermione said, blushing. 'Sorry for interrupting you.'

'Quite all right.' Luna had forgotten about it already. She and her water jug floated to the next table (not literally).

* * *

It was time for the speeches. Lucius was the Master of Ceremonies. Hermione felt her cheeks flare every time she looked at him. The dirty, devilishly sexy bastard.

Blaise stood and gave a moving speech, praising his lovely wife and thanking everyone who had helped put this celebration together. Again.

There may have been a few uncharitable souls among the tables who wondered how long this marriage would last, but Hermione had high hopes. Blaise was different with Pansy. Less cocky. More caring. More careful. Yep. She'd find one of the twins later. No doubt they'd opened a book on the length of the marriage. She'd put some Galleons down on the marriage going the distance.

After Blaise, it was Draco's turn to give a speech. He stood up, and Hermione was saddened again by how unwell he looked. He looked out over the vast room, and uncannily found her eyes in a heartbeat. She nodded at him encouragingly.

'I would like to go against tradition and firstly read out the messages from those who couldn't be here today.' He did so, ignoring the affronted old biddies among the tables who feared any change as they would fear a lion who had stopped by for a cup of tea and a nibble.

That done, Draco looked at his notes, then put on them on the table. 'For many of you, this will be your third attendance at a wedding where Blaise is the groom. We all make mistakes' – the room rumbled softly in laughter – 'but you can all see how well this bride and groom are suited to each other. In fact, it would appear they were made for each other.'

Blaise smiled and briefly patted Draco's hand.

'I've made mistakes, too,' Draco continued. 'Massive ones. I take heart from witnessing today's ceremony, because it gives me hope that despite mistakes occuring, fresh starts can be made. So, before I go any further with this speech, I'd like to propose a toast to fresh starts.'

He indicated the bride and groom, and the guests raised their glasses and echoed 'Fresh starts.'

Ginny, Fred, George, Ron and Harry stood just inside the hallway leading to the ball room, listening. The male Weasleys had thoughtfully brought along a selection of snacks to last them throughout the proceedings. Ginny cuddled in to Harry, who wrapped an arm around her. He kissed the top of her head, thinking back to their own wedding.

Draco took a breath. 'It's with Blaise and Pansy's blessing that I continue with this speech, since it's not really going to be about them at all.'

Whispers spread around the ball room.

'My mistake was putting business before love. A business is a factual, tangible, thing. Love is intangible, changeable, never the same two days in a row. I'd never experienced it before, and I feared it. So when I was faced with a choice between business and love, I chose what I knew. My business. In doing so, I broke someone's heart. Along with my own.

'I told her I was sorry at the time. She didn't accept it. She was right to. It took time for me to understand the full implication of my stupid actions.'

Ladies pulled handkerchiefs out again and applied them to wet eyes. The men (apart from Blaise) looked at Draco like he'd grown an extra head.

A massive lump had formed in Hermione's throat. Géraud knew, and let her clutch his hand hard between both of hers.

'I want to atone for my actions, and this is why I'm standing here today. I would love for her to forgive me – but that is her decision to make.'

Draco took a ragged breath in, then out.

'In this room is a unique woman. She is kind, fiercely intelligent, compassionate, humorous, passionate. And beautiful. In every possible way. She was wasted in her previous employment, and I tricked her into resigning.'

Gasps echoed around the hall.

'My mind has not changed in that respect,' Draco said over the noise. 'Because I have an alternative to offer her. I know she is more than capable of the role. In fact, I know she'll do a better job than the incumbent. But it's up to her if she wants to accept it. This is my atonement.'

In the hallway, Ginny looked outraged. 'He'd better not be offering her the 'job' of being his wife.'

'What's wrong with that?' asked Harry, offended.

'Shut up, you two,' said Ron, listening to the speech.

'Since all of the Board members and company shareholders of MZ Enterprises are present, I hereby announce my resignation as co-Chief Executive of the company.'

Louder gasps sounded across the room.

'I offer the role instead to Miss Hermione Granger.'

* * *

Bedlam broke out, inasmuch as it could at a high-society wedding.

Everyone eavesdropping in the hallway stared at each other, mouths agape.

'Oh' – said Ron.

'my' – said Fred.

'bloody' – said Ginny.

'godfathers,' said George.

'He's just walked away from his business empire and given it to Hermione to run. Just like that.' Ginny's eyes were huge, trying to take in the implications. 'That is one hell of an atonement. Right, Harry?'

Harry leaned against the hallway wall, waiting until he could trust his feet to hold him up again. 'Yeah. I think so.'

* * *

People swarmed the main table, demanding explanations.

Lucius, who was already at the main table, got in first. 'What?' He jumped up from his seat, outraged. 'What the hell is going on?'

'Sit down, darling,' Narcissa said calmly, pulling on his sleeve.

'I will not sit down! Draco! What the hell is the matter with you?'

'Father, the decision is made and has been ratified by the majority shareholders,' Draco said calmly above the clamour.

Lucius was nearly puce. 'Bullshit! I haven't seen any such ratification! And if I had, I wouldn't have bloody signed it!'

'We know.' Blaise got up from the table and stood with his best friend, facing Lucius. 'We had another shareholder sign the papers.'

'Another shareholder? Who?' shrieked Lucius.

Narcissa got up and stood next to Draco. 'Me, darling.'

Lucius's bluster fell away. 'Y-you?' he gasped, in total shock.

'Everything we have is jointly owned, yes?' asked Narcissa archly. 'Besides. Can't you see that the company is killing him? He needs to get away from it. Become the man he was again.'

Draco put an arm around his mother and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

'Narcissa.' Lucius fell back into his seat with breathless surprise. 'I must say that's… very Slytherin of you.' He arched a Malfoy eyebrow. 'I'm quite impressed.'

'Good.' She smiled seductively, giving Lucius ideas.

Then she put her organising skills into use. 'Darling, you and Blaise need to talk to the shareholders. Please present a united front. Draco, you need to speak to someone else.'

'Thanks, Mother.' He looked at Blaise and Pansy. 'Sorry about the drama, guys.'

'It's fine, Draco,' Pansy said, smiling. 'We'll just make an effort to create something similar at your own wedding.'

Draco kissed Pansy's cheek. 'I hope so.' He scooted around the table.

'Hold it!' Narcissa's voice rang clear. Draco froze.

She advanced upon him, rummaged in his pockets, and pulled out the cigarette case.

Draco went beet red, and glared at Blaise.

Blaise held his hands up in innocence. 'I never said a word.'

Sheepishly, Draco looked at Narcissa, who seemed none too pleased with her discovery, or with her son. 'We will talk about this later,' she said darkly.

'Yes ma'am,' he said.

Then he hot-footed it.

* * *

Making his way to Hermione's table was slow going. By the time Draco fended off all the befuddled shareholders who inconveniently stood between him and her table, she was gone.

Géraud reached out and grasped his arm. 'It's okay,' he said above the din, seeing Draco's anguished face. 'She went to the gazebo for some air. Go to her.'

Draco stood there, unsure.

Géraud rolled his eyes and gave him a shove. 'Go, you gorgeous git.'

He watched Draco dodge yet more shareholders and make his escape onto the terrace. Géraud patted his pockets. Oh, damn it. Hermione still had his handkerchief. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

* * *

'Muvver…' bleated a plaintive little voice at the Goyle and Crabbe table.

His mother barely heard him over the hubbub. 'Yes, Wilbur, what is it?' she asked distractedly.

Little Wilbur's face had turned a fascinating shade of green. 'I don't feel well,' he whined.

'Oh, Gods.' Mrs Goyle was not the most matronly of mothers. 'Gregory, your son is feeling sick.'

Once again, Goyle marvelled at how 'their son' morphed into 'his son' whenever something unpleasant or time-consuming was about to happen. Looking at Wilbur's Slytherin-hued face, it looked like something both unpleasant _and_ time-consuming was about to happen.

'Oh dear, let's get you to the bathroom, shall we?'

Wilbur nodded, and then really wished he hadn't.

Goyle scooped his boy up and hurtled out of the ballroom and down the hall, past a collection of surprised male Weasleys and one Potter (Ginny was trying not to laugh), but he only made it to the bathroom door when poor little Wilbur expelled the contents of his stomach all over the door, the floor, and his father.

And all over Mrs uh… Blaise's mum, who exited the bathroom at just the wrong moment.

'Eww,' groaned Harry and the Weasleys, looking away.

Poor Goyle just stood there helplessly, not having the faintest idea how to clean up semi-digested mini spring rolls and soda in a Muggle environment.

Mrs uh… Blaise's mum also just stood there helplessly, quite unable to believe what had just occurred.

Harry eyed his wife suspiciously. As well he might, for his lady was clutching her sides and laughing uproariously.

'Ginny,' he instructed, 'go help the Goyles and um, Blaise's mum and clean up the mess.'

Ginny's laughter instantly stopped. 'What the hell for?' she demanded. 'You're not the boss of me.'

'Actually, for this event, I _am_ your boss,' her husband reminded her evenly. 'And if I find out you had something to do with it, you will be in big trouble.'

Ginny looked up at him coyly. 'You promise?' she simpered.

Harry pointed down the hall. 'Go!'

'Yeesh,' Ginny muttered, as she slouched down the hallway. What a time for Harry to lose his sense of humour. However, upon nearing the unholy sight and smell, she felt sorry for the boy, who was now sobbing into his father's filthy jacket. 'There, there, little one,' she cooed. 'Let's get you into the bathroom and clean you up, all right?'

She ushered the stinking trio into the bathroom and locked the door. Getting out her concealed wand, she _scourgified_ them back to their normal states, which unfortunately, meant that Blaise's mum's spandex dress showed its leopard-print pattern in all its unfortunate glory.

'Thank you dear,' Blaise's mum said with profound relief. 'How kind of you to come to our aid.'

Feeling really bad now, Ginny transfigured a spare loo roll into a glass and filled it with water. 'Here you go, little man,' she said gently, offering it to the mini-Goyle, who was struck dumb by the magic the lady with the fiery hair performed.

'I can do that if you like,' Blaise's mum offered.

'Thanks, that would be great,' Ginny sighed. 'I have to clean up outside yet.'

'Er, sorry about that,' Goyle mumbled. 'Dunno what he's eaten.'

'No! No apologies necessary,' gasped Ginny, hopping out of the bathroom in double time.

Luckily she could _scourgify_ the Goyles and Blaise's mum. The mess outside, though, she thought grimly, she'd have to clean the Muggle way.

That'll teach me to not think a plan through to its conclusion, she sighed.

* * *

Back inside the bathroom, Blaise's mum held the glass to little Wilbur's lips and cooed as he drank. 'Oh, he's such a little dear,' she simpered. 'He looks darling in his tuxedo.'

'Er, thanks,' Goyle said, blushing a little.

'I think you're doing a wonderful job with him, you know,' Blaise's mum said, with her eyes wide.

Goyle didn't quite get it. All he was doing was holding his son.

Blaise's mum sighed. 'I miss having a little boy around the house,' she lamented. 'Blaise just doesn't need me anymore.'

'Well, it's not much, but you're welcome to come sit with him at our table, if you like,' said Goyle. 'Do you fancy that, son?'

Little Wilbur smiled and nodded shyly at the lady who was dressed as a leopard.

'I would love to! Thank you very much!'

The unlikely trio exited the bathroom and into a clean hallway (thanks Ginny!). Blaise's mum followed Goyle to his table, eyeing his bum and calculating how long it would take to seduce him… Mr Seersucker suit can go hang.

* * *

Hermione trailed a hand along the gazebo's handrail. Her head was spinning and her heart was jack-hammering away. When she arrived at the pretty structure, she gulped down large breaths of air, hoping that would calm her down, but just ended up feeling a little bloated instead.

She rested her hands on the handrail and looked out over the lake, recalling Draco's speech. He publicly apologised to her, emotionally, intensely. She knew that any Malfoy worth their salt would rather boil themselves in oil than make a public exhibition of themselves.

But that's exactly what he did.

Then he walked away from his job. That which he'd slaved for years and years to build, almost to the cost of his health.

And he offered it to her.

A job, if she took it, would make her the first female (co) Chief Executive of the largest and most influential corporation in the wizarding world, not just the United Kingdom. The world.

And he believed she could do a better job than him.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Damn, these shoes hurt.

She wriggled her toes in an effort to return some circulation to them.

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. 'Hermione.'

Her heart jack-hammered up another gear, and she turned around.

Draco stood by the entrance to the gazebo. His hands were in his pockets. He didn't want her to see them shaking.

While he looked gaunt and very pale, Hermione still saw the beauty in his face and figure. His face was careful; guarded.

'May I come in?' he asked politely.

'Of course,' she whispered.

He stepped inside, stopping at the centre. 'You look' – he swallowed and started again – 'You look stunning. The white really brings out the golden colour of your skin.'

She smiled. 'One of Géraud's choices. The shoes are a bitch, though. I'm sure he made me wear them in retaliation for not wearing a fascinator.'

Draco smiled. 'You can take them off if you like,' he suggested. 'I won't tell Géraud.'

What the hell, she thought. She eased them off her protesting feet, dropping a few inches in height and sighing in bliss.

'That is an excellent example of an executive decision,' she remarked.

Draco shrugged. 'I won't have to make too many more now.'

She stepped closer to him. 'Your offer… it's too generous. I can't take your livelihood away.'

'You're not, really. I've worked myself to the bone for too long. I want to find out what else I want to do with my life. I've worked out how I want to spend my non-working life. I'm just not sure what to do to earn a crust.'

Hermione looked at him sceptically. 'You don't need to earn a crust.'

'True,' he conceded, 'but I want to make something of myself.'

Hermione braved another step closer. There it was. The smell of his cologne. 'What are your plans for your non-working life?' she asked in a low voice.

Draco's gaze was steady. 'I want to love the only woman in the world that is possible for me to love. I want to marry her. Father children with her. Support her every step of the way in her role as co-Chief Executive of MZ Enterprises. Or any other role she chooses. Be everything she wants in a best friend, lover and partner.'

Hermione was overcome. Stupid tears, pricking at the back of her eyes. She bit her lip hard in an effort to drive them back.

'Hermione.' This time, Draco's voice held emotion. He pulled his hands out of his pockets. They still shook. Too bad. He slowly reached out and brushed her cheek. 'Please tell me you'll forgive me. I don't care if you don't take the job. I just need to know that you've forgiven me, and maybe one day, we could try to be together. For real.'

Finally, Hermione's heart ceased jack-hammering. She felt calm and at peace. She now knew what she wanted.

'I want to try now,' she whispered.

'Good,' he replied. 'I was kind of hoping you wouldn't take me up on the 'one day' bit.'

She stepped into his arms, stood on her bare tip-toes and lifted her face up to his for his kiss.

His body instantly remembered the feel of the woman he loved in his arms, and his hands stopped shaking. His lips closed over hers, and they kissed the most poignant, sweetest, softest kiss you ever saw.

They were where they belonged.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Oh, you people! Twisting my rubber writing arm for a sequel or epilogue! In truth, though, your requests are one of the best compliments a writer could ever receive. And while my initial reaction to the queries was 'Wha-?' I had a bit of a think, and I came up with an epilogue.**

 **This is dedicated to all of you xx**

* * *

 **Trigger: infertility**

* * *

 **Easter, two years later**

 **Malfoy Manor**

It was a perfect Spring day, and Malfoy Manor sparkled in the sun. The front door and Floo were wide open, with happy house-elves welcoming new arrivals and staggering under the weight of coats, nappy bags, changes of clothes and toys.

Joyful shrieks and peals of laughter sounded in the garden. Dozens and dozens of children, ranging from weeks old to ten years cooed, toddled or ran full-tilt around the lawn, flitting from one toy to another. Mothers watched indulgently from the patio, and fathers gathered on the half-Quidditch pitch to play some friendlies.

Lucius and Narcissa watched the activity from their balcony.

'I'm still not sure I approve of the Manor being turned into a daycare centre,' grumbled Lucius. 'Merlin forbid the litigation costs if someone has an accident.'

Narcissa rolled her eyes. 'There will not be any litigation costs,' she said calmly. 'And even if there were, we could certainly afford them.' She smiled down at the riotous, colourful scene. 'It's just for one day, dear.'

'Hmph.'

Narcissa put her arms around her husband and hugged him. 'Why did we only have one child, darling?' she asked whimsically.

Lucius looked alarmed. 'Because I still haven't gotten over the one we have!'

Narcissa pouted.

'Oh, dear.' Lucius searched his wife's face. 'Are we getting clucky again?'

She didn't deny it. 'I want one so badly, Lucius!'

'Hey.' He kissed the top of her head. 'It'll happen naturally, sweetheart. Don't push it.'

'But it's been two years!'

He sighed. 'I know. Do you think, perhaps, Draco doesn't know how to get Hermione…?'

Narcissa gave him a sceptical look.

'You're right,' Lucius conceded. 'If he didn't know two years ago, I'm sure he's figured it out by now.'

Narcissa crossed her arms. 'If I don't see a pregnant Hermione by Christmas, I will be taking matters into my own hands.'

Lucius supposed he'd better warn Draco that his mother was getting a tad impatient for grandchildren. And that hosting the annual MZ Enterprises Easter Family Day (for children ten years and under) wasn't exactly helping matters any.

'Right.' Narcissa headed into their bedroom and checked her perfect reflection in the mirror. 'Come, Lucius, we need to go downstairs and play host.'

'Do we have to?' he whined. 'The girls always want to plait my hair.'

'Then tie it back.'

'I hate tying it back!' Lucius narrowly stopped himself from stamping a foot.

Narcissa rolled her eyes as she headed to the staircase. She remembered why she didn't have any more children. She already had two.

* * *

Hermione clutched Draco's arm in excitement. 'They're here!'

Draco stumbled behind his girlfriend as she dragged him around the patio to greet Géraud, Bastien and their adopted daughter, Amélie, a gorgeous little five-year old with cocoa-coloured corkscrew curls and milk chocolate skin. Every time Hermione saw her, she got a desperate craving for hot chocolate. And children. Not together, you understand.

Amélie, carried by Papa Bastien, screamed 'Tante Mione!' when she saw Hermione rushing up to her, and gleefully held her arms out. Hermione forsook Draco and scooped the gorgeous girl into her arms, pretending to nibble her delicious chocolatey arms and legs. Amélie's shrieks of joy rose octaves.

Draco, wincing slightly, stood next to an indulgent Bastien and Géraud. 'Glad you could all come,' he said, kissing them in the French manner.

'Wouldn't have missed it for the world, darling,' replied Géraud happily. 'Amélie loves to talk with her English friends.'

Draco blinked. 'She's speaking English already?'

Bastien nodded. 'She has an astounding thirst for knowledge. Soaks everything up like a sponge.'

That reminded Draco of someone.

'Of course, it can be a challenge to keep her entertained, sometimes.'

Géraud nodded. 'Yes, we're not sure whether we're looking forward to her magic developing or not.'

Draco smiled, thinking back to his first year at Hogwarts when a tiny but confident female Muggleborn blew everyone out of the water with her magical ability.

Géraud noticed the smile. 'And how are you two?' he asked with little to no subtlety. 'Any chance of a wee little march down a particular aisle, or the pitter-patter of tiny little Granger-Malfoy feet?'

Draco snorted. 'If I had a Galleon for every time I was asked that…'

'It wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference to your bank account.'

'True.'

Géraud looked where Draco's eyes had settled. 'She's very good with children, isn't she?' he asked, a little sadly. Hermione was being dragged by Amélie to the giant sandpit, where a house-elf constructed magnificent sandcastles for the children to decorate. Or destroy. For house-elves, everything is beautiful.

Draco swallowed. 'Yeah.' Then he took a deep breath and turned to Bastien. 'Could I have a quick chat with you, mate?'

 _'Bien s_ _û_ _r.'_

Draco indicated the way inside, and the two men turned to join him.

Draco stopped. 'Um, just Bastien, this time,' he said with pink cheeks.

'Hmph.' Géraud turned his beautiful nose up. 'You know I'll just get it out of him, anyway.'

'I wouldn't want to spoil your fun, then,' Draco grinned.

'Oh, fine. I'll be with the ladies, gossiping.' Géraud flounced off.

Draco led Bastien into his father's study on the ground floor. Bastien, upon closing the door, asked 'What can I help you with?'

Draco leaned against Lucius's desk. 'I need some medical advice.'

'Is this the sort of advice I can give you without you having to remove your clothes?'

'Uh, yes.'

Bastien pulled up a leather armchair and sat down. 'Good. Géraud would never forgive me if I got to see you naked without him. Even in a professional context.'

'I can believe that.'

Bastien spread his arms. 'Go for it.'

Draco looked around the study. 'Hermione and I have been together for two years, more or less. We haven't told anyone, but for the last year we've been trying to conceive. But nothing has happened.' Draco's troubled eyes met Bastien's. 'Could something be wrong?'

Bastien thought. 'There's no straight answer,' he said. 'Infertility, if that's what it is, can be caused by a myriad of things. But before considering those, we need to establish whether you, Hermione, or both, are infertile. Have either of you been tested for it?'

Draco shook his head.

'It's a Muggle test, rather than a Healer's test,' Bastien clarified. 'Still, if Hermione was concerned, I would have expected her to look into it.'

'She's never said anything,' said Draco, almost wishing he hadn't quit smoking.

'Maybe you should discuss the possibility of having the tests with her,' Bastien suggested gently.

Wonderful. That was a conversation to look forward to.

'Worst case scenario,' Draco hedged, 'if one of us were infertile, is there any chance of us having children?'

'Well,' Bastien said slowly, 'in the Muggle world, they have a process where they can use a donor egg, or donor sperm, depending on which of you is infertile, and create a baby with the partner's fertile sperm or egg. However, that would mean that biologically, the baby does not contain the DNA of the infertile person. Do you follow?'

'Yeah,' Draco mumbled. 'I get it. And if both are infertile?'

Bastien looked away. 'Your best option is to adopt.'

Draco thought of Hermione with Amélie. How happy she was with the child. They could adopt. He'd be happy to. But –

He craved a child of their own. A little girl. With her mother's golden skin, and curly hair. And formidable intellect. His eyes, his hair colour. She'd run rings around her doting grandparents. He'd be her slave. Hermione would scold him for spoiling her, then in the following minute she'd do exactly the same thing. She would be loved so much.

Phoibe Malfoy. Shining One.

Fuck. He was going to cry.

Bastien stood up and quietly headed for the door. 'Lock the door after me.'

Draco nodded, and Bastien left.

* * *

Hermione sat near the sandpit, watching Amélie and giving enthusiastic feedback when the dear child showed off a particular pattern she'd created on a sandcastle. She watched in amazement as the little girl started gabbling to the nearby children in English, easily forming friendships with the girls – and untying the ribbons from her pigtails so they could be used for castle decorations, which would give Papa Géraud conniptions.

Her gaze wandered around the garden. Like everything Malfoy, it was huge. Including Draco's – she giggled to herself. They'd been trying for a year to have a baby, now. Not seriously, with temperatures plotted and ovulation charts developed, but naturally. It was bound to happen one day.

She hadn't told Draco, but six months in, she saw a specialist in Harley Street in the Muggle world to determine whether there were any problems. There weren't. As far as the doctor was concerned, her oven was ready for a bun.

The garden should have grandchildren running around in it. Not no grandchildren. Ideally, not even just one grandchild. But siblings.

* * *

Draco, having slapped himself a few times metaphorically and maybe once or twice physically, was passing through the hall when a very worried Neville and his very pregnant wife Luna arrived.

'Lovely to see you! Thanks for you coming,' greeted Draco, shaking Neville's hand and kissing Luna on the cheek. 'You look absolutely lovely, Luna,' he said admiringly.

'Can you show us where she can sit down?' asked Neville desperately. 'It's not good for her to be on her feet.'

Luna laughed. 'I've just walked from the car park to the front door!' She leaned into Draco confidentially. 'Neville's a bit nervous about the pregnancy. And the birth. And the responsibility of having children.'

Sure enough, Neville seemed to be sweating. 'It's a massive responsibility!' he protested. 'If something happened to you or the baby, I – I don't know what I'd do.'

Luna's beautiful eyes met her husband's. 'Please, darling,' she said gently.

Neville swallowed and tried to breathe.

'Follow me,' Draco said hurriedly, and escorted them to the patio. There, Luna sank into a chair next to Géraud, Ginny, nursing tiny baby James, and Pansy, who was blessed with nine-month-old twin girls. (Blaise was almost unbearable to be around; he was so happy).

'Ah, Neville!' Bastien was standing next to Geraud's seat. 'Come with me to the Quidditch pitch. Draco, are you up for a little game?'

''Course.'

Neville turned white. 'But you can't go!' he said to Bastien, horrified. 'You're a Healer!'

Bastien tried to link his choice of career to any reason why he should not go to the Quidditch pitch, but came up empty. He turned to Draco. 'Are Healers not allowed on your Quidditch pitch?'

'No,' laughed Draco. 'Everyone's welcome, regardless of career. Or, indeed, no career.'

'But Bastien has to stay here!' gasped Neville. 'What if Luna goes into labour? She's due any day!'

'It's just a five-minute walk to the Quidditch pitch,' said Géraud, amused. 'Not that this is my field of expertise, but it's highly doubtful that Madame Longbottom will give birth in the short time it takes for someone to fetch Bastien from the pitch and for him to walk back. Ladies, what do you say?'

'Go to the damn Quidditch pitch, Neville,' said Ginny wearily.

'But – but' – sputtered Neville.

Bastien took Neville's pulse at the wrist and consulted his watch. 'Your blood pressure's not looking very good,' he noted.

'Some fresh air will be good for you, love,' said Luna firmly.

Defeated, Neville let himself be frogmarched by Bastien and Draco to the Quidditch pitch, casting desperate glances backward at every opportunity.

Géraud watched the departing figures and tutted. 'That man's wound up tighter than a cuckoo clock,' he remarked. 'Were your husbands that bad when you had your children, ladies?'

Ginny and Pansy didn't even need to think. 'Yes.'

'Goodness,' sighed Géraud. 'Thank Merlin I missed all that.'

* * *

The highlight of the Easter Family Day was the Easter Egg hunt in the Malfoy maze. It was quite an impressive maze, and its intricacies had often bettered many a drunk or wayward Malfoy who thought they were taking a short cut but ended up being rescued, days later, clinging to sanity by a thread.

Therefore, to give the little ones a fighting chance, they were allowed some help. Firstly, a parent or guardian was to accompany each child or group of siblings. In the quite likely event that the parents would probably end up lost, they could use their wands to point them in the right direction. The little kiddies could rely on coloured arrows that pointed them to a spot in the maze where Easter eggs were secreted.

The back-up plan was Lucius, who, standing on one of the balconies overlooking the maze (looking like an aristocratic Rastafarian with his luscious silver hair decked out in dozens of pigtails) would be able to spot a parent sending up an SOS with his or her wand, and the rescue specialists (house elves) would come and get them.

Hermione ran it for the first time last year, and it went off without a hitch or incurring missing employees. And this year was the same. A couple of hours later, excited children ran, and exhausted parents staggered out of the maze, the former clutching piles of chocolate eggs (courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes), and the latter begging for Firewhiskey.

Hermione, Draco and Narcissa stood in the hallway while the guests said goodbye and made their various ways home. Luna left the premises without giving birth, much to Neville's temporary relief (she went into labour that night). Little Amélie's hair had tangled itself into one big snarl that looked similar to an Afro, which gave Géraud the predicted conniptions.

Blaise and Pansy's little twins were too young for the Easter egg hunt, but Pansy wasn't looking forward to next year's. Blaise sulked because he couldn't go in the maze and snaffle up Easter eggs for himself.

Eventually, the horde departed, and the house elves got busy with the gargantuan clean-up. Hermione sighed happily. 'I think today was a wonderful success!'

Draco kissed her forehead. 'Well done, love. And thank you, Mother, for hosting.' He kissed his mother's cheek.

'Not at all, darling,' Narcissa replied. 'In fact, Hermione dear, I was going to approach you about the possibility of hosting a similar type of event for Christmas.'

Hermione clapped her hands. 'That would be fantastic! We must get together soon and start planning it!'

Behind them, a strangled gasp sounded, followed by a thump.

Bewildered, they turned around and found Lucius out cold on the floor, his many pigtails spread out in a silver halo around his head.

* * *

Leaving Narcissa to resuscitate her husband, Draco drew Hermione to one side. 'Fancy going for a walk with me to the centre of the maze?'

Hermione had been meaning to take him to one side, too. 'Sure thing,' she replied. Then she looked at him closely. 'Are you okay? You look a little tense.'

Draco swallowed bravely. 'All good here.'

They held hands and entered the maze.

In the centre of the Malfoy maze was a magnificent water fountain. One of the earlier Malfoys, one of the oddballs that got sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts, installed it so that any lost Malfoys would at least have a water supply to keep them going.

Draco and Hermione reached the fountain. Hermione sat on the edge, brushing her hand through the crystal water, while Draco stared off into space.

This was odd behaviour for Draco. She was starting to get worried about him. 'Darling?' she asked. 'There's something I want to tell you' –

'Wait,' interrupted Draco. He turned to her. 'Sorry for interrupting. There's something – well, some things, I want to tell you. They're quite serious.'

Okaaay. Hermione completed the Worry stage, entered the Mild Panic stage. She stood up and clasped Draco's hands. 'What is it?' she said, her voice jumping an octave.

Draco brushed her hands with his thumbs. 'Darling,' he began, (after a few deep breaths and a regret that he hadn't fortified himself with Firewhiskey prior to this) 'I love you with all my heart. These past two years have been the best of my life, and I would love nothing more if I could spend the rest of my life with you.'

Hermione's lips trembled into a smile. 'I love you too, Draco,' she said. 'More than anything.'

Draco swallowed. 'Our lives would be wonderful if we could have children of our own. But for the last year, we haven't been able to succeed.'

Hermione looked up. 'Draco' –

'Please let me finish, love,' he whispered. 'This isn't easy for me. I was going to ask you to marry me.'

His face was not a face Hermione associated with happy proposals. He looked bloody miserable, in fact. 'But' –

'But I can't marry you. At least, not yet. Not until we find out why we haven't been able to conceive. I'll gladly do all the Muggle tests necessary' –

'Draco, please' –

'And if it turns out I'm infertile, then we can use donor sperm to create a baby, and it will be fine, because that baby will be half _you_ , and I'll love him or her as much as I love you' –

Okay, Draco's beginning to babble. Hermione tried again. 'Draco' –

'Or, if it's both of us, we can adopt, like Géraud and Bastien with Amélie' –

 _'Silencio!'_ shrieked Hermione.

Draco stood there, stunned, and unable to say a word.

'Sorry,' said Hermione wretchedly. 'But you need to stop talking. I've got something to tell you, and you need to listen to me. Okay?'

Draco nodded warily.

'Promise?'

Draco nodded again.

'Okay.' Hermione ended the charm and stepped up to him. She stood on her tip-toes and placed her hands gently around his face. 'Draco,' she said gently, 'what I wanted to tell you is that I'm five weeks pregnant.'

She kissed him gently on his lips, and let go.

Draco stood there, unable to move. Just one word was spinning around his brain: PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT PREGNANT

'You're pregnant?' he whispered.

Hermione laughed. 'Yes!'

'You're going to be a mother?' he clarified faintly.

Another laugh. 'And you're going to be a father.'

That got through.

'Oh my gods!' Draco cried, and scooped Hermione up in a hug that took her off her feet. He whirled her around and around the maze centre until she begged to be put down.

Oh, right. She's pregnant. He set her gently back on the ground. 'You okay?'

'Of course,' she said, smiling.

Merlin, he almost forgot. He took her hands again.

'Hermione,' Draco said, 'what I said before was true. I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to love you, grow old with you, have children with you.'

Tears of happiness welled in Hermione's eyes.

'Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, my lover, my best friend, forever?' he whispered.

Hermione blinked, and two tears fell slowly down her cheeks. 'Yes, Draco,' she replied. 'I will.'

A ring materialised in Draco's hand, and he slid it slowly onto Hermione's ring finger, barely able to see himself because something was blurring his eyes.

She glanced at the ring. It was simple and elegant at the same time; the sort of result you get when the money you spent on buying the ring could have purchased a country in the South Pacific. The band was unadorned gold, with a bright-white .65 carat diamond in the centre, flanked by two flawless sapphires. It fit her perfectly.

Draco bent and gently kissed her tears away. She turned her mouth to his and tasted her tears on his lips. They held each other so tight that nothing could come between them.

And nothing ever will.

The End.

* * *

 **A/N: And there you have it! NeverNik's Harry Potterisation of 'Sabrina.' Special thanks to LightofEvolution for her support throughout!**

 **I hope you have enjoyed this journey with me. Your reviews were instrumental in places where I wasn't sure what to write. Once again, I'm amazed at how a basic story idea takes on a life of its own and grows into something beautiful. The more I write, the more I improve, and, though I don't say this often, I'm really happy with this story (besides all the typos I failed to pick up, grr)**

 **Not sure when I will be back, but I definitely will be back. Pop me on your 'Follow Author' list and we'll meet again. Thanks so much for your support!**


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